


Our Choices

by siriusblackfoot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, Dark, Drama, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marauders, Marauders era, Other, Peter Pettigrew - Freeform, Post-Lily and James death, Post-War, Remus x Sirius, Sirius Black in Azkaban, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin - Freeform, Slow Burn, The Marauders - Freeform, angsty, first wizarding war, marauders fanfic, remus lupin - Freeform, sirius black - Freeform, sirius x remus, wolfstar, wolfstar angst, wolfstar fic, wolfstar slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2018-11-15 06:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 75,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11225364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblackfoot/pseuds/siriusblackfoot
Summary: "I went to their funeral alone," Remus choked out. "And I'm never going to get them back. Visiting Azkaban won't change that. But it'll make me feel a hell of a lot better to see him rotting away."It's 1981.  James and Lily have already been killed.  Peter is dead, and Sirius is locked away in Azkaban for it.  Remus is literally and figuratively falling apart at the seams as he tries to cope with losing all of his closest friends in such awful, in one case traitorous, ways.  And somewhere in the midst of it all is one huge secret, and a baby boy with a lightning scar.Marauders Era/Post-First Wizarding War. Remus/Sirius. Rated T/M for heavy themes and language.





	1. The First Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first Ao3 fic! I got this idea a few weeks ago and knew I had to act on it because I've always wanted to write something that takes place right after James and Lily are killed. I really wanted to focus on Sirius and Remus's experiences and how they cope with the loss. 
> 
> There's a good chance that as this fic goes on, the timeline and when certain things happen will differ considerably from the canon timeline, so just pay attention to any dates I write in!
> 
> If you're here at all, I already love you for checking out my work, but please consider leaving me a comment if you really like (or really hate) it! All feedback is welcome and encouraged :)
> 
> -C

**If you really want to get the ambience I was going for while writing this chapter,[play this](https://youtu.be/3TTOMTqrBX4?t=2733) in another tab while you read! Hope you like this :)**

* * *

**_The Leaky Cauldron_ **

**_Christmas Eve, 1981_ **

Serpent Wine burned the back of Remus Lupin’s throat as he downed another glass in one gulp. He was past the point of registering the sting it caused in the stomach when ingested too quickly; all he cared about was reaching the bottom of the glass so he’d be one step closer to wiping another night from his memory. He’d thought about it before—Obliviating himself, pretending nothing had happened since Halloween—but he couldn’t muster the strength, so alcohol would have to do.

He waved his wand lazily in the direction of the bar to summon another bottle, but when he looked up he saw no wine floating towards him. He sighed; that would make it the fifth night in a row Tom the Bartender had cut him off before midnight, and on Christmas Eve no less. If he wasn’t careful, one of these nights he’d surely be caught for performing magic under the influence.

Remus sighed heavily and burped, grimacing at the leftover taste in his mouth. If he thought a full moon was nearly unbearable, it was nothing compared to this. The first holidays without James and Lily, without Peter, without Sirius…even without—Remus couldn’t even think the name, despite how only days ago he had begged Dumbledore to let him go visit, just for an hour or two, _please_ , because it’s Christmas.

It was as if a whole part of him was missing without the people who made his life as close to normal as it could get for a lycanthrope, and almost as horrible as the pain was the apathy towards everything and everyone else that he knew was getting worse. He’d never understood how people could wind up in pubs in the middle of the day, running up their tabs, but he knew now. He’d become one of that crowd. Sitting there, drunk at his usual table and spending Christmas alone, Remus doubted he’d ever get out of this slump. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to, because that would mean facing the reality of what had happened to his best friends.

“May I sit down?” a voice asked. In his semi-stupor, Remus shrugged and gestured sloppily to the other side of the table, his eyes too bleary to see if there was even a chair there. “I thought I might find you here, Remus.”

Remus looked up to see none other than Albus Dumbledore sitting before him, dressed in Yuletide robes, a glass of eggnog in front of him. Remus’s first instinct was to get up and leave, but his feet seemed to have detached themselves from his body and were no longer obeying his brain’s (albeit impaired) commands.

“I quite like this drink. Muggles love it this time of year,” Dumbledore said cheerfully after a moment of pause. Remus glared across the table in disgust. How was he so jovial? “I understand why you’re angry with me, and I don’t deny that you have a right to be. But you do understand why I couldn’t let you go,” Dumbledore said cautiously. It wasn’t a question.

Remus’s face contorted in pain and he averted his eyes, feeling them start to brim with frustrated tears. “I just want to make sure he’s alright,” he finally choked out.

“I can assure you that Harry Potter is safe,” Dumbledore said calmly.

“You _assured_ me James and Lily were safe, too!” Remus said angrily, a surge of courage coming to him. “How can I believe anything you say anymore?”

“What happened at Godric’s Hollow was a tragedy none of us could have foreseen. But Harry is with his aunt and uncle now, his only family—”

“So I don’t count as family, then?” Remus scowled and clenched his cup in his hand so hard he thought he might break it. “Lily’s sister all but disowned her, you know that! She used to cry about it to me, did you know that too? Of all the places to send their son—Muggles, no less—he’ll completely lost when it comes time for him to go to Hogwarts.”

“As he should be.” Dumbledore maintained his level tone despite Remus’s increasingly agitated one. “The front page of the paper is no place for a child to grow up.”

“And a Muggle neighborhood where he’ll have no idea where he came from is? The poor boy will never know his parents, Albus, and now you’re keeping his— _our_ —whole world from him too! The truth will be more of a shock to him when he turns eleven than it would be if he grew up knowing it.”

Dumbledore looked at Remus with such a piercing stare that it sobered the younger man up considerably. “I have nothing but Harry’s best interests at heart. When the proper time comes, he’ll learn. Until then, I am confident he is in good care, away from all this.”

After a deep breath, Remus said more calmly, “I just want to see him, so he knows he’s, he’s _got_ someone.”

Dumbledore peered over his spectacles at Remus with as close to a disapproving look as he could muster towards the young man who not long ago was one of the best students he’d ever seen. “You’re not stable, Remus—”

“Well, Harry and I’ll have that in common one day won’t we?! Living the way he prob’ly is with that lot, that’d fuck anyone up f—” he was starting to slur his words again, not even bothering to watch his language.

“—and what’s more, you have barely got the means to take care of yourself, let alone a child that is not yours.”

“I’m not asking to raise him!” Remus spluttered, “Just to see him, a few times a year! I’m the only person he might even recognize from before V—before they died. You’d think you could lift th’protective charms for me of all people, I’m his godfather!”

Dumbledore shook his head. “No, you are not.”

“W-well…I’m as good as! Seeing as the real one’s a damn traitor.” Remus spat on the floor and made a move to get up, but Dumbledore raised his hand slightly and Remus sat back down sulkily. Neither man said anything for a few moments. The sounds of the Leaky Cauldron that filled their lull in conversation—muffled laughter, the voices of carolers walking down the street outside, glasses clinking against each other in a toast to good tidings—seemed unusually loud and obnoxious to Remus.

“I did bring you this,” Dumbledore said finally, reaching into the depths of his emerald robes. “A Christmas gift, if you will.”

Remus scoffed. Dumbledore held out a small square envelope and nodded at Remus to take it. He did, and downed the very last drops of his wine before opening it. Inside was a small stack of photographs. He looked at them with a mixture of elation and terrible sadness. There was Lily’s hand at the edge of the frame, slowly rocking a tiny moving cradle with an even tinier baby Harry inside. One-year-old Harry on a toy broomstick, held up by what were unmistakably Peter’s thin hands as the pair zoomed around, James and Lily laughing as they held their fussing baby boy. Remus held back a sob; these couldn’t have been taken long ago. How had they had no idea that in such a short time they’d all be betrayed by their own friend?

“They were recovered in Godric’s Hollow in the days afterwards,” Dumbledore said, and Remus nodded, his throat too thick from holding back tears to say anything. He got to the last photograph, an unusually still shot of Harry in a larger crib next to another baby boy who had much chubbier cheeks. “I do keep in contact with Lily’s sister when necessary,” Dumbledore explained. The only thing that looked different about Harry himself was the jagged scar on his forehead.

“I know it’s not easy, Remus,” Dumbledore whispered. “But I promise you, Harry is exactly where he needs to be. So, I might add, is Sirius Black.”

Remus flipped through the photos again, furrowing his brow as Dumbledore’s last comment registered in his foggy mind. That seemed an odd thing to say. Of course Sirius was where he deserved to be, there was no doubt about that. He’d done something Remus would have sooner died than do: he sold James and Lily to Voldemort, and by extension betrayed and belittled everything the Order had ever worked towards. Not to mention at least a dozen people—and Merlin knows how many more—were dead because of him. How none of them ever saw it coming was a question that plagued Remus’s mind to no end.

“Thank you, sir,” Remus finally said with difficulty. “I owe you an—” He looked up to shake Dumbledore’s hand, but as swiftly as he had appeared, the man was already gone.

* * *

**A/N: And so begins my newest Harry Potter fic! Please let me know what you think, any feedback is more than welcome and reviews make my Patronus stronger!**

**-C**


	2. Guilty Until Proven Innocent

**_Again, to really get the feel for this chapter and make it seem like you're there in it, play[this ambience video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7-hC30Q6C4) in another tab while you read! I listened to it while writing this chapter and holy moly does it ever set the mood._ **

* * *

  **Azkaban Wizard Prison, Ward X (Highly Dangerous Inmates)**

**September, 1986**

_3484-1031. 3484-1031_. The number was burned in Sirius Black’s mind like the Dark Marks he’d seen etched in angry, swirling ink on so many inmates’ arms. The number was a sick form of identification, just as much a curse as the one that killed two of his best friends and nearly ended the short life of their child.  _Prisoner #3484-1031_. He let his eyes flutter shut in the hopes that he’d never open them again, but this place had a funny way of keeping prisoners alive. 

 _3_ …a wave of frostiness washed over Sirius’s thin body like a badly cast Disillusionment Charm, sending him into shivery convulsions for the umpteenth time.  His body twitched, every bone burning with icy fire as his guards ghosted past the iron doors to his cell, which were crusty with rot and mold and frosted over like every inch of this godforsaken place seemed to be.  _4…8.._.  He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and let the thick substance coat his teeth, which he involuntarily bared at the ragged black cloak hovering in the corridor outside. _4_. He wanted to feel something, anything besides the crushing darkness and the endless stab of guilt that came with knowing that, innocent though he was, it was his fault James and Lily were dead and Harry was orphaned. _Peter,_ that bloody coward _._   Sirius choked back a sob and then chose anger instead, gripping himself so tightly his sharp nails made little crescent moons of filth in his sallow skin and he thought at any moment he might shatter the bones that barely held his frail body together. He wished he would. _1031_. October 31, the night he was caught and arrested.  The night they died.

Sirius let his head fall backwards against the cement wall and barely even reacted to the dull pain and the cracking sound it made in tandem with the thunder outside. He wanted to curse whoever philosophized Hell was a giant pit of Fiendfyre—surely nothing could be worse than a cell so dark he could barely see even as a dog, and he’d take any devil over being so malnourished that he would force himself to be sick, just so he could eat his meager meals for a second time and trick himself into feeling fuller. 

Once in his life he had thought he was strong enough to take on anything, but that façade was shattered the second he saw James’s lifeless body on the floor of the home he was supposed to fill with a family.  All he could hear was that night, day in, day out.  A shriek.  A scream. A baby’s cry, a friend’s anguished accusation and somewhere in the background of it all, the sound of a motorbike that once signified freedom and rebellion but now filled his brain with a deafening roar that got louder and louder until it made his head feel as though it was about to explode and coat the walls of the cell with—he drew a sharp breath.  And that damned number.  That was his only name, only identification within these deadly walls.  _3484-1031_.  But he was innocent!  He was innocent, and Harry was alive.  That was all he had to go on.  _3484-1031_....shivering again, he concentrated hard and transformed, curling up in the corner as far away from the cell door as he could, losing himself in his own head.

* * *

**Flashback. Hogwarts, Fall 1977.**

“Oi, give that back!” Sirius shouted as James all but ripped the Marauders’ Map from his best friend’s hands.  Sirius had been poring over the map for the last half-hour, perusing its many folds for a group of unsuspecting first years to prank, but James had more pressing matters on his mind.  “C’mon, Prongs, give it here!” Sirius shouted with the kind of amused annoyance only a best friend can have.  He vaulted over the sofa in the Gryffindor common room, chasing James through tables of students studying and nearly knocking over Lucas Grotstoy, the fifth year prefect. 

But James was already out of reach, having darted halfway up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories amid excited squeals from the second years who’d just come out of the door above him.  Sirius darted after him, but the trick steps that James had nimbly avoided transformed into a slide right under his feet, and both boys came chuting down into a heap.  Lucas Grotstoy was not impressed. 

“Alright, you lot, pick yourselves up,” he ordered with every ounce of self-righteousness possessed by a fifteen-year-old in a minor position of power. 

“Thanks, Grout, how professional of you,” came a voice, laughing.  Lucas huffed, not appreciating the nickname, but did as the older boy asked.

James clapped a hand on Peter’s back after the latter helped him to his feet.  “Thanks, Wormtail,” he said as he ran a hand through his mop of hair. 

“What’d you need the map so bad for, anyway?” Peter asked.  He, James, and Sirius walked back over to their designated corner of the common room where Remus sat sorting through their latest Zonko’s haul.

Remus glanced up and joined the conversation without missing a beat.  “Haven’t you heard?” he smirked.  “Prongs is in love.”

Sirius flopped down into an armchair with a dramatic sigh, having given up trying to get the map back.  “That’s all we _use_ the damn thing for anymore,” he complained.  “Finding wherever Lily-fucking-Evans is so Prongs can plan out a move he’ll never make.”

James smiled over the top of the map, not denying anything. 

“Why don’t you just wait by the Fat Lady like a normal stalker would do?” Peter said around a mouthful of peach pound cake—his favorite—that he’d nicked on a run to the kitchens.

Sirius swung his legs over the side of his chair and twirled his wand in his fingers, then pointed it at Peter, who jumped a little.  “Wormtail’s right, mate.  It’s right sad to watch.  You’re about as close to a date with Evans as you were first year.”

“No,” James countered confidently, scrunching his nose to catch his glasses as they slipped.  “Things are going great.  Lily is my friend now, it is _fantastic_ , and we have made considerable progress in our relationship.  I know that may be hard for you to understand, Padfoot, as you wouldn’t recognize a relationship even if it danced naked in front of you,” James teased, earning laughter from his friends and a couple Gryffindors nearby who had overheard. 

“If it’s dancing naked in front of me, it’s definitely not a relationship,” Sirius retorted with a sly wink.

“Well, Prongs, I’m not sure making it through Head Boy and Girl duties without Lily cursing your balls off last week counts as considerable progress, but whatever helps you sleep at night,” Remus chided, not looking up from the stack of Wailing Quills (“ _A scream with every note taken—guaranteed to liven up any lesson!_ ”) that he was sorting by feather type.  Peter gave him a playful shove with his foot that both scolded and encouraged the teasing at the same time. 

“Stuff it, Moony,” said James.  “You lot just wait.”

“We are,” the three other Marauders said dully in unison. 

“We _been_ waiting,” said Sirius.

“Every day—” said Peter.

“—every hour,” Remus added.

“—since the moment our sorry arses got put in Gryffindor with yours, you tosser,” Sirius finished, laughing.  It was true, though.  They wanted to see James succeed almost as much as James himself, but the constant Lily-this and Lily-that was starting to get on everyone’s nerves.

“You’d better think of something to say to her quick,” Peter piped up, nodding towards the map where a small set of footprints approached their very location.  “The red-haired lass approaches.”

* * *

Just as quickly as it had come, the memory of chasing James through the common room dissipated into thin air as if it had been stolen.  It most likely had been.  Sirius whined and shivered, shaking water off his matted fur.  The storm that wracked Azkaban prison the night before had come and gone, but still the whole place was perpetually rainy and damp, and, as he did most days, he spent much of his time in his dog form to help fight the chill.  He realized that since humans were more affected by Dementors than animals, his Animagus status alleviated the pain of imprisonment greatly.  Sirius blinked his hooded eyes slowly and involuntarily turned his body away from his cell door even more, his tail between his legs.  He had mostly accepted the unending feeling of hopelessness that was Azkaban prison, but every now and then, at least as a dog anyway, he got flashes of how his life used to be, and they felt so real that for a split second he’d convince himself that maybe this had all been a nightmare.

But even more painful than real memories were the thoughts of what could have been.  The what-ifs and should-haves ate away at his brain like parasites.  It was the thoughts of little things that sent the deepest pangs of sadness into his heart—things like watching Lily fuss as they all gathered on Platform 9 ¾ to send Harry off for his first year at Hogwarts.  Or taking a trip to the mountains right before one full moon, so they could have a change of scenery from the Forbidden Forest when they all ran with Remus.  Or the four of them, the Marauders reunited once more, grilling Harry after he came back from his first real date, Lily shaking her head lovingly in the background and tossing a line or two in herself.  These things could never be, not now, and it hurt like hell.

The Dementors couldn’t take those fantasies away from him, and whether that was a blessing or a curse, Sirius couldn’t decide—no, those thoughts were neither memory, because they never happened, nor happy, because they never could.  So there Sirius sat, laughing bitterly to himself at that somber loophole day in and day out and retreating into his own mind, until the lines between fact and fiction were so blurred that the only thing he could rely on being real were the four walls around him, and the tiny window near the ceiling through which the rain came trickling in.

* * *

 

**Writing this chapter kind of messed me up to be honest.  Sirius is my favorite character and while it was really fun for me to dive into his head and think about where he might be mentally while in Azkaban, it was also a huge challenge to put a character I love so much through so much pain.  But hey—you do what you’ve got to do for the story’s sake.  Anyway, let me know what you thought of this! Any predictions of where you think the story will go? Leave me a comment!**

**-C**


	3. Scrapbooks and Dragon Rum

**Buckle up guys, this chapter is longer than both the first two put together!**

**Thank you to everyone who’s been leaving feedback!**

* * *

_**Diagon Alley, London** _

_**November, 1987** _

_**Six years after Voldemort’s downfall.**  _

They say time is the only true healer, but it wasn’t until six years after what the Wizarding world collectively referred to as “the incident” that Remus finally started to believe it.  Things were looking, well, not _up_ , per se, but there was certainly a pinprick of light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.  Not only was the community fear-free, but Remus had managed to cut back on his drinking to the point where no one shook their heads disapprovingly anymore when he walked into a pub.  He’d reconnected with the remaining members of the Order as well, and even gotten a job at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor scooping on the weekends.  It didn’t pay very much, but it was enough that he could afford his own flat.  The little apartment he rented above the Apothecary wasn’t large and it wasn’t glamorous by any stretch of meaning, but it was his, and that was all that mattered.  Although, he admitted, he could do without the residual smell of any number of magical creatures that lived in the shop below. 

However, not a day went by that he didn’t miss his friends.  He thought, once, that he was making progress, and invited Mary Macdonald and Kingsley Shacklebolt out for lunch in an attempt to be social again, only to be painfully reminded of the weekly visits he and the Marauders would make to Hogsmeade, or the Flying Elf lounge once they left Hogwarts.  He’d spent that whole afternoon sulking in the corner booth while Mary and Kingsley desperately tried to make conversation.

Still, he tried.  Mainly because he wanted to prove to Dumbledore that he was, in fact, fit to see Harry, at least well before the full moon.  But the man never budged, and Remus had the sneaking suspicion it wasn’t Dumbledore who wanted so desperately to keep Harry boarded up.   After his birthday owl to Harry came flying back to him with the letter and gift still tied to its foot for the fifth year in a row, Remus knew it was best to simply stop trying.  If Dumbledore was taking care of what was best for Harry, then Remus should focus on doing what was best for himself, and he did, for a while, anyway.

Until he found the scrapbook.

He was unpacking the last boxes that remained unopened in the tiny kitchen in his flat in Diagon Alley when he came across a dusty bin of his old school things. 

“Scourgify,” he said with a wave of his wand, coughing as the film of dust cleared from the box and into the air with a _poof_.  Inside he found a number of old textbooks—maybe he could sell those back to Flourish and Blotts for some extra money, he thought—as well as a set of robes he’d almost surely grown out of, and beneath it all, a thick album bound with a red leather belt.  He sat cross-legged on the floor, his mission to unpack abandoned, and flicked open the cover.  The scrapbook itself seemed to sigh with relief at finally being reopened after all these years.

He really enjoyed himself at first, cupping his chin in one hand as he looked at images of his days at Hogwarts.  The camera James had given him for Christmas in fourth year really was the gift that kept on giving, and Remus smiled as he relived each memory.

“C’mon, you lot, we’ll be late for the game!” He could practically hear Peter squeal as he looked at a candid shot of the young, mousy-haired boy beckoning his off-camera friends to “hurry up and get to the Quidditch pitch, we can’t miss James!”

He laughed at a photo that was an interpretation, one could say, of an action shot.  Whoever had taken it was in mid-fall off a broomstick and the photo was nothing more than a moving blur as if someone slipped as the shutter clicked.  That had to have been Lily, she was never the nimblest of fliers, but insisted on trying her hand at photography from above.

Then he flipped to the last page.  There were two photos taped inside.  One was of Remus and Sirius in the common room, deadpanning at the camera because they’d been made to share the smallest armchair there was and were squishing each other trying to fit, only to burst into laughter as Sirius mouthed “fuck it” and fell into Remus’s lap as the picture moved. 

Then, on the opposite page, there it was.  Even though he remembered the day like it was yesterday, seeing the photo of the five of them—James, Lily, Remus, Peter, and Sirius—felt like getting hit in the back with a particularly nasty Stinging Jinx.  Everyone had gotten a copy of this shot to keep.  It was the last time they were all together.

Remus and Peter were kneeling in the front: Remus was raising his wand slightly to charm the camera into taking the photo itself, and in the back, hunched over to fit in the frame, were James and Lily, separated only by Sirius, who slung a lanky arm around each of them.  Their smiles shone with naiveté and excitement, and Remus wanted to shout at them all for it. 

It was like someone had taken a crank, stuck it into Remus’s ear and rewound all the progress he had made in the last year.  Suddenly, the pain and anger felt fresh and raw again. 

 _How could he?_ Remus thought as he stared at Sirius.  Really, how _could_ he?  He was practically James’s brother, his best man at the wedding, his son’s bloody godfather, yet apparently none of that mattered when faced with choosing to save his own life or his friends’.  It made Remus feel sick to know that not only had Sirius done what he did, but that any of them had spent so much time in the company of someone who, despite being the dark horse of his family, turned out to be just as twisted as the rest of it.

 _He never even properly confessed_ , Remus thought, anger boiling in his veins.  _He just did it and let himself get carted off to Azkaban so he wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath_.

Meanwhile, the rest of them—Peter’s family, the Order, _Harry_ , and Remus himself—had to pick up the pieces and somehow continue with their forever broken lives.   He wanted Sirius to feel the same heart-wrenching pain he carried with him every day, no matter how well he composed himself on the outside.  He wanted Sirius to acknowledge what he did and show some goddamned remorse. 

All of a sudden, that gave Remus an idea.

* * *

_**Diagon Alley, Gringotts Wizarding Bank** _

_**The next day.** _

“Vault 454, please.” 

A stout goblin with ample hair growing from his ears peeked over the top of his logbook at the customer before him, who’d already placed a key and his identification on the desk and now stood with a kind of wary cheerfulness a few feet in front of him. 

“I’ve already told them I’m coming, I—we’re expected,” the young man offered with a nervous half step forward.  The witch at his side put a hand on his arm and tugged him softly as if to keep him grounded.

“Mr. R. J. Lupin,” the goblin drawled.  “And what brings you here today?”

Remus straightened his shoulders and smiled shakily, shuffling his feet.  He shouldn’t be the one doing the talking, it wasn’t even his vault! 

“Erm—personal business,” he chirped.  “Y’know, family errands, the holidays coming and all, I’ve said I’ll actually do some good on presents this y—”

“He’s here with me.  For a loan,” said the witch succinctly, and Remus’s ears turned pink at the word “loan.”

“Follow Pudlock,” was all the clerk had to say, and Remus nodded politely, shaking off the encounter as another knee-high goblin attendee tugged on his robes and led him towards a hallway on the right. 

“Gringotts used to make me so excited as a kid,” the witch who accompanied him whispered.  “All the twists and turns.  Just makes me sick now.”

Remus smiled, but it looked like it pained him.  “Thanks, Mary, by the way.”

“Nothing but a favor to an old friend, yeah?” Mary Macdonald quipped.  “In you get.”  A short ride later, the trio arrived at Mary’s vault, slightly nauseous but none too jostled as they got out of the cart.  The goblin unlocked the giant vault and the door swung open to reveal a small fortune—stacks of galleons and sickles all but wallpapered the small room, and several trophies and other antiques sat on crystalline pedestals as if on display in a museum instead of locked in a mildewy cave underground.

“Show off this lot often, eh Mac?” Remus teased as he hopped up the small ledge and into the vault.

Mary smiled as she leaned against the doorway.  “Only to my most trusted degenerates…and you more than foot that bill,” she chided, and Remus almost laughed.  “Oi, careful you!”  Remus had accidentally knocked over a particularly tall pyramid of coins and grinned sheepishly.  “Take what you need and let’s get on out, it’s chillier than a Dementor’s breath in here.”

Remus’s face fell immediately and he turned away, stuffing fistfuls of coins into a knapsack he’d brought along. 

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I shouldn’t’ve said that…I mean, with Sirius—”

“Don’t say his name, please.”  Remus’s voice was sharper than she’d ever heard it.  If she didn’t know better she’d say it sounded almost hateful.

"Sorry, Rem.  I’ve just seen how much it’s affected you, you know.   I mean, we all lost people in the war, but you seem worse off than anyone else in the Order and it’s been—”

“What?  Been long enough, is that what you were going to say?”

Mary sighed.  “Please don’t get angry with me.  I just think the sooner you acknowledge what that bloody criminal did, the sooner you can get on with you know, the rest of your life?  I’m _not_ saying forget it,” she added exasperatedly as Remus scoffed and turned away, wiping his nose with one grubby sleeve.  “I just mean you can’t change it, and acting like you’ve gotten Stunned any time someone brings him up won’t make your life any easier.”

“I’m done,” Remus said curtly.  “Can we just go?  I’ll buy you a cuppa.”

Mary rolled her eyes, but when she rested her hand on her friend’s shoulder, he didn’t flinch away.  “What, with my own money?”  she joked.

The pair managed a tense chuckle as they boarded the cart and were catapulted back along the iron railway towards sunlight once more.

* * *

“What’s it for?” Mary asked as they collected the two pints of Dragon Rum they’d ordered from Tom at the Leaky Cauldron.  Remus had cleaned up his act considerably and was seen at the pub as less of a nuisance now, and more of a valued customer.  Still, though, he didn’t feel the same, especially since finding the album.

“What’s what for?” Remus questioned, balking slightly at Mary’s stern look.  She wasn’t buying his feigned innocence, so he shrugged and said, “I told you, new robes and a cauldron.”

 “Don’t be thick.  You took close to two hundred galleons.  I don’t lend that kind of money out to just anyone, so I’d better know what you’re spending it on.” 

Remus was hunched over his cup with his hands half-clasped, one thumb flicking the nail of the other.  He knew how he must look—borrowing a friend’s money with no explanation, showing up to retrieve said gold in his best robes which, by any other wizard’s standards, would be more suited for work in the garden, or cut up for dishrags.  He was literally and figuratively falling apart at the seams, there was no denying it, and it was a wonder anyone even wasted time on him anymore.  No matter how hard he tried to reintegrate himself into day-to-day life, the truth was that ever since that fateful Halloween, he’d had almost nothing left to care about, and that included himself.  Just thinking back to that group photograph, and Sirius smiling and acting so fucking _innocent_ , made Remus’s blood boil.  It brought on the feeling he only ever got right before a transformation—a violent, painful rage that made the edges of his vision cloud over and all rational thought slip away.  Remus had lost not two, but four friends that night.  His best friends.  Three dead and one wasting away for what he’d done.  How could anyone recover fully from that?

“Fine, don’t tell me.”  Mary’s voice snapped him out of his thrashing thoughts.  “I’ll just take this back then.”  She reached for the bag containing the gold coins, but Remus grabbed her wrist with lightning reflexes, pinning it to the table.

He glanced up at Mary when he felt her arm relax and relinquished his hold on her.  She was startled by the crazed sadness in his eyes. 

“I’ve got to go there, Mac.”

“And where’s that?  Going on vacation, are you?” she prompted, coughing out a few sparks after a sip of her drink.  Remus sat in stony silence, hoping she would come to the conclusion herself so he wouldn’t have to say it, and sure enough, her eyes widened in shock.  “Y’don’t mean—” she leaned in forward towards him and lowered her voice even more—“You’d be mad to even think about it, Lupin.”

“That’s nothing new, is it now,” he said, grimacing. 

Mary narrowed her eyes.  “If you’re trying to say what I think you are…you’d better not be,” she hissed, and under any other circumstances Remus might have laughed at the way she phrased it.  “You are not using my money to go and visit a _convicted murderer_.”

“I don’t even know if they’ll approve me.  If the Ministry’s got it on file that I’m a were—that I’m what I am, there’s no chance they’ll let me go.”

“Then why try?”

“It’s been six years, Mary.”

“So what?” she whisper-shrieked.  “You wouldn’t say his name an hour ago and now you want to pay the fee to go see him?  Remus—he as good as murdered James and Lily.  He sold them out to You-Know-Who!  He offed Peter too, _and_ those Muggles!”

“I know what he did!” Remus shouted. He slammed his wooden mug down on the table and the rum inside sloshed over the rim, smoking.  A couple witches and a hag at a nearby table turned to find the source of the commotion and he hunched over again, shielding his face out of habit.  His hands shook as he bunched his hair in his fists, feeling tears start to sting the back of his eyes and blaming it on the fumes from the rum.  “I know,” he breathed heavily, “what he did.  But I want to hear him admit it.”

Mary sat back in her chair and looked pityingly at her friend.  “He as good as confessed already, you know that.  Just the way he looked when they took him in, all crazed and laughing.  _Laughing!_   Sirius Black—oh for Godric’s sake Remus, he’s not You-Know-Who, I can say his name if I bloody well please—didn’t just kill those people, he destroyed them.  He’s proud of it.  What more do you need?” Remus stared at his balled fist on the table.  It was true that Sirius was anything but innocent, and would likely die in jail.  Everyone knew being sent to Azkaban was essentially both a life _and_ death sentence.  But he couldn’t shake his need for confirmation.

After a long pause filled by the clink and clack of the pub, he spoke so softly that if Mary hadn’t been reading his chapped lips, she’d have thought she imagined any response at all. 

“I went to their funeral _alone_ ,” Remus choked out.  “I don’t even remember the last thing I said to either of them.  I was off on a mission when they died, and I hadn’t seen them for months before that.  We were just kids, especially Peter—I’m never gonna get them back,” he said with a crack in his voice, finally lifting his eyes and imploring Mary to see why he simply must do this.  “Visiting Azkaban won’t change that.  But it’ll make me feel a hell of a lot better to see _him_ rotting away. And that I need to see for myself.”

“Well, I think it’s stupid, and I think you’re mental,” Mary said angrily.

“So do I,” said Remus earnestly, “But it’s been torturing me ever since that night.  I have to—” he waved off a traveling ghoul no doubt looking to try and sell them something—“confront him.  It’s the only way I can move on.  That’s what you said I should do, move on, yeah?”

Mary reheated her cooling drink with her wand, thinking over what Remus had said.  “Yes, that’s what you should do.  But you can move on in other ways.  You could help the Order!” she suggested, but Remus shook his head.

“The Order’s all but disbanded with You-Know-Who gone.  And the Aurors have got Dark wizard hunting under control without help from someone like me, not that they’d take me anyway,” he said dejectedly.  Mary knew Remus hated feeling useless, and he did have a point.  If one good thing came from that Halloween night, it was that it seemed to have caused the Dark Lord’s downfall once and for all.  There hadn’t been more than a whisper of his whereabouts for nearly half a decade, and though the Order—rather, what was left of it after the war—still kept in close contact, there was no need for immediate action anymore.

“But no one is put in Azkaban, let alone goes to _visit_ Azkaban and comes out the same.  As a friend who’s already concerned for you,” she said as she looked Remus over from head to toe, eyeing his overwhelmingly disheveled, seemingly-on-the-brink appearance, “I think it would be very, very bad for you to go there.”

“I’ve dealt with much worse than Dementors, Mary,” Remus said with a laugh that was supposed to be reassuring.  He was actually quite sickened by the mere thought of walking into the prison.  The place was said to be one of the darkest in the Wizarding world—its very walls held thousands of Dark wizards whose energy, mixed with that of the Dementors’, was said to be too much for some people to bear.  Dumbledore himself refused to speak about any of his visits there, even during Order briefings. 

“I’ve looked into the visitation process, hardly anyone ever does it, you see, so there’s plenty of openings.  I just have to pay the fee, submit to a background check and prove to the Magical Corrections Office that I can produce a corporeal Patronus…just in case,” Remus explained.

Mary sighed and folded her arms.  “I don’t doubt you’ve done your research.  That’s not why I’m worried.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just—oh, Remus, you were so close with him, I just can’t help but wonder that part of you thinks he might be innocent!”  She put her hand on his shoulder as her words hung in the air between them.  She knew her fear was probably nothing, after all Sirius had betrayed them all by association, but it worried her that Remus was so intent on visiting someone who—regardless of what he’d done—was an old, very close friend.  Then again, she hadn’t even known Lily and James as well as Remus, and their death _still_ shattered her.  She couldn’t imagine how Remus must feel.  After a long pause, she spoke again, much more softly.  “They were my friends too, you know.”

“Then you should understand why I’ve got to do this.  You can even come with me if you’d like.”

Mary sighed, knowing there was no way she could change her friend’s mind once it was made up like this.  “I don’t want to go with you,” she said firmly.  “But I can’t stop you from going alone.”

Remus smiled, relieved.  “Thank you.  I—”

“You’ll pay me back the money by the summer holiday, got it?  Not a day later.  And Remus—if I were you, I wouldn’t stay more than a couple minutes.  Hear what you want to, then go.  You know how he was at school, charming, persuasive.  Don’t let him make you believe anything you know isn’t true.”

“I know,” Remus nodded.  Mary was getting up from the table and gathering her things, and Remus began to do the same.  “I’ll head to the office straightaway and send an owl the day before I visit.  This will all be over in a month or so, I promise.”

Mary nodded.  “Godric willing.” 

 

* * *

**.**

**..**

**.**

**Imperio!! Ha, now you have to leave a comment! ;)**

**-C**


	4. Expecto Probat, et Patronum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, this chapter may feel like a filler chapter, but I promise it's important, so pay attention!

_**The Ministry of Magic, London.** _

_**November 1987.** _

The Magical Corrections Office was a strange little department, seldom known but to those who required its services.  The onyx tiles set seamlessly into the floor reflected the dim purple light of the sconces on the wall, which cast an eerie aura around the diamond-shaped chamber.  Its four walls slanted upwards and inwards to form a point at their apex, giving the impression that one was standing on the base of a crystal that had been cut clean in half.  The low light and uneven walls made it seem like the office was far, far underground, meant to disorient anyone who had been arraigned and brought in for questioning, but the place was actually on floor number 17 ½ of the Ministry of Magic.

This office dealt with three things: interrogations for minor magical crimes (such as unlawful Obliviations, possession of magical contraband, etc.), the reintegration of wizards and witches on parole, and requests for visitation to Azkaban.  No witch or wizard had come to the office for the third service in over ten years, ever since ex-Healer Eustis Pickery had been approved to visit his imprisoned aunt, but then had to be admitted to Azkaban himself after attempting to disable the prison’s protective charms and reveal it to the Muggles—quite the scandal.  Needless to say, security was tighter than ever, and only the Minister of Magic was permitted to go to Azkaban at will.

Remus had only been to the Magical Corrections Office once before, at the height of the war when, of all the things that could have possibly gone wrong at that time, all he had done was accidentally set fire to a tree in his backyard during a downpour, with one Muggle witness.

This visit was already much more formal than the quick slap on the wrist followed by a pardon that he’d gotten last time. 

“R. J. Lupin, twenty-seven, left Hogwarts in 1978 having earned Outstanding or Exceeds Expectations on all N.E.W.T examinations…unemployed,” the wizard at the front desk—his nameplate read Horatio Lutz—drawled as he looked over Remus’s very thin file, his lips curling into a sneer around the last word.

“I’ve got a job,” Remus piped up.  “It’s recent.  Florean Fortescue’s on the weekends.”  Remus was actually relieved; if his long stretch of previous unemployment was the worst they had in his file, it seemed he was still successfully evading being put on the Werewolf Registry.  

He kept his condition as secret as possible—only a handful of people knew, and most of them had died in the war.  Remus knew that if his name were to ever end up on that list, he’d lose everything—his job, his home, and definitely the chance of getting approved for this visit.  The Registry was poorly kept up, but he could never be too careful.  There was still a lot of anti-werewolf sentiment floating around, despite the vast majority of the civilized werewolf population denouncing all claims of ties to You-Know-Who.

“…Requesting one day’s admittance to Azkaban prison on March the twentieth, and permission to Apparate directly onto the grounds because of a tendency to experience seasickness,” the wizard read off Remus’s application, sounding distasteful. 

Remus gave a pained smile.  He didn’t like being made to sound like a fool, which he had a hunch Lutz was doing on purpose.  He figured it best to play along and kept his voice level as he replied. 

“Yes, sir.  Only a couple of hours, though, actually.  I doubt I’ll want to stay long,” he said with an attempt at levity.

“You have one infraction on record, an incident last year involving fire and a rainstorm at the same time…seems rather peculiar, does it not?

“That charge was dropped, sir.  It was an accident, I only meant to light my woodstove but my wand had been damaged on an Order mission earlier that week and it, ah, misfired.  The Muggle that saw had his memory wiped though, he’s convinced it was a lightning strike…”  he trailed off because he was babbling, and Lutz was no longer listening.  

“Very well.  Now, Mr. Lupin, about your visit.  Are you aware that you have requested to visit Prisoner #3484-1031, his given name Sirius Black, who is one of—”

“—the most dangerous convicts of our time and under maximum security, yes, I am aware.”  He hadn’t meant to sound so rude, but if he had a Galleon for every time someone warned about Sirius, he wouldn’t still be living in a run-down flat.

Lutz took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  Remus was painfully reminded of James and how he used to do the same thing after a long session in the library.  “I have to ask you why you intend to visit this man.”

Remus opened his mouth to tell Lutz that this was a mission to avenge his friends, not sympathize with their killer, but Lutz cut him off before he got even one word out.

“And you must answer me after taking Veritaserum.  I understand that this method is often seen as unethical, but I assure you its use here is Ministry-sanctioned and unfortunately, necessary.  If you do not wish to comply, you do not have to, but your application will not be accepted and I’ll have to report you to the next office up.  You see, as you said, Sirius Black is in a maximum security cell, being a big supporter of You-Know-Who and all.  There are all sorts of enchantments making sure those bars can’t be broken out of, so if you don’t voluntarily take the potion before this interrogation, I have to assume that’s because you intend to help him escape in some way.” 

Lutz poured a small cup of tea and added three drops of a crystal clear potion while Remus sat in silence, slightly apprehensive but not surprised.  The rule made sense, and Remus found it reassuring to know that the Ministry was taking such precautions when it came to matters of public safety.  The more Remus thought about it, this was a genius strategy.  Anyone trying to visit Azkaban to help its inmates either drank the Veritaserum and admitted their intentions when asked, or refused it, and in doing so just as well revealed their plans anyway. 

“That’s fine,” Remus said, hoping his willingness would work even more in his favor.  If that was what it took, that’s what he would do.  He couldn’t taste the Veritaserum as he took a sip of tea, but seconds later he felt warm and comfortable, and Lutz looked less like a Corrections official and more like a trusted friend, someone to whom he could tell anything, anything at all…

“Who are you requesting to visit?”

“Sirius Black,” Remus answered immediately.

“Why?”

“He betrayed my friends.  James and Lily Potter.  He murdered Peter Pettigrew as well, along with some Muggles.  I want to hear him confess it for myself.”

Lutz narrowed his eyes. “Who is Black to you?”

Remus hesitated for only a split second, chewing on his thumbnail, before blurting out, “We were best friends at Hogwarts, all of us.  Never went a day without seeing him, especially after fifth year.  After we left school we joined the Order of the Phoenix, and sometimes he was my partner on missions.  He…he took down a lot of Dark wizards, sir, and had us all convinced he was on our side.  And then he sold the Potters to You-Know-Who, and, well, you know the rest from the papers.”  His tongue felt numb.

“Are you in any way going to try and aid Black in escape or retaliation, or do you in any way plan to carry out orders for Black upon your departure?”

“No, sir, never,” Remus said softly, almost insulted that Lutz would even ask such a question.  “When I see him, I’ll be happy, but not because I’m seeing an old friend.  He’s no friend to me now, and I’ll be happy to see him miserable.  He deserves it after what he did.  All I want is to hear him confess for myself so I can get some closure.” Remus’s breath caught in his throat. “That’s all I need.  Closure.”

There was a tense silence in the room, during which Remus realized just how tightly he’d been gripping the armrests of his chair.  His knuckles were white against the mahogany and he couldn’t remember the last time he blinked.  After a minute or an hour, he wasn’t sure, Lutz stamped the form with such force that Remus’s heart leapt up into his throat. With a wave of his wand, Lutz lifted the effects of the Veritaserum and Remus blinked rapidly as if he’d just stepped out into bright sunlight. 

“Very well,” Lutz said again, sounding almost bored as he checked something off on the form with a flourish of his jet-black quill.  “Can you produce a corporeal Patronus, Mr. Lupin?”

Remus nodded and swallowed hard; this was the part of the meeting he was most afraid of.  It had been a long time since he’d conjured anything close to a fully-formed Patronus.  Although the charm was one of his better talents, he hated performing it in the presence of others unless absolutely necessary, lest its wolf form give away his lycanthropy.  He almost always held back, using good but not particularly strong memories to conjure it so that no one could discern any shape from the misty vapor.  However, refusing to show the office his capabilities would only harm his chances, so he drew his wand.  Lutz leaned back into his chair and folded his hands across his bulbous stomach, giving a nod.  Remus cleared his throat and took a deep breath to quell his trepidation.

“Expecto Patronum!” he shouted clearly, with one specific day in mind…

* * *

**Hogwarts, 1975.**

Remus was sitting at the bottom of a sloping hill that tumbled down the north side of the Hogwarts grounds, the blanket of grass fraying at the edges as it neared the tree line of the Forbidden Forest.  A whistling breeze pushed and pulled at the low-hanging branches, eliciting from them an ominous chorus of creaks and snapping twigs, and upsetting a flock of bats that skittered through the night air like little flecks of black pepper shaken onto a cloudy gray sky.  Remus sat with his back against a thick hemlock tree, staring apprehensively into the abyss of the forest.  He checked his watch and felt his heart sink.

“Guys, you have to go back to the castle,” he called out.  _And I have to get to the Shrieking Shack before it’s too late_ , he thought to himself dismally.  Tonight was a full moon; had they forgotten?  James, Sirius, and Peter didn’t appear to have heard his warning; they were huddled together by a cluster of rocks, speaking earnestly amongst themselves in hushed tones.  “Please, you lot, it’s almost nighttime!”  Remus’s voice was panicked.  They had maybe fifteen minutes before the moon would be in full view, and there was no telling what Remus might accidentally do to his friends if they were still there when he transformed.

“Relax, Moony,” said Sirius casually.  Remus shook his head.

“Tonight’s the full moon.”  His voice trembled and he could already feel his body starting to convulse and twitch as dusk fell on Hogwarts castle.

“We know,” said the other three boys in unison.  They had broken up their huddle and walked over to where Remus sat frowning, hugging his knees to his chest.  Sirius held out his hand and helped Remus to his feet.  He had the same smile on his face that he usually flashed before a particularly impressive prank, or when he had a secret he hoped someone would ask about, just so he could tell it.

“C’mon, lads, let’s show him!  Moony,” James announced proudly, puffing out his chest.  “Meet Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.”

Remus blinked in confusion and when he opened his eyes, his friends were gone.  In their places were a small rat with unusually tufty blond ears, a shaggy black dog with piercing gray eyes whose panting sounded more like laughter, and a stag with mischief gleaming in its eyes and velvet coating its antlers appropriately for the coming winter.  

“You did it!” Remus said after a breathless pause, his voice cracking from emotion; he hardly dared believe it.  “You actually did it!”  He knew his friends had been trying their hardest to become Animagi, but throughout the whole process he refused to get his hopes up that it would actually work, and at times even tried to convince them to abandon the plan.  One small slip-up, one misstep, and the results could be disastrous.

“I think he’s going to cry, Prongs!”  Remus’s jaw dropped; he could hear Peter’s voice in his head; it must be some kind of animalistic connection!  And Peter—rather, Wormtail—was right; the tears flowed freely down his scarred, fifteen-year-old, peach-fuzzy cheeks and he had to crouch down to steady himself on the ground, his face buried in his hands.  But for the first time, the overwhelming bout of emotion wasn’t brought on by stress or sadness or despair.  Remus had never felt this much joy in his life, nor had his heart ever felt so full.  Those three boys truly were the best friends a bloke could hope to have, and even as the moon emerged from behind the clouds and soaked the grounds in its silver glow, even as he felt himself start to lose control of his body moments later, Remus was utterly and completely happy.

* * *

Triggered by the memory, a thin wisp of silver shot from Remus’s wand, flickered, then came back strong, bursting forward.  A giant wolf romped around the room, jumped onto the desk and let out a silent howl before it leapt down and dissipated into thin air.  Remus’s smile faltered a little; though the memory still worked and the feelings behind it were still real and unmatched by anything else he’d ever experienced, he hadn’t been able to hold his Patronus as long as he used to ever since…he shook his head and refocused on what was going on before him.  He stood with bated breath, but Lutz looked neither impressed nor suspicious.

“Very well,” Lutz said again, stamping the application form on the right line.  “I just need the deposit, then.   That’s 125 galleons now to cover the Apparition and visitation fees; we’ve got to file the paperwork and alert the guards there’ll be someone coming so they can make any necessary arrangements.  The rest you’ll pay your escort the day of.  We’ll assign someone to you who’s comfortable with the destination.”  Remus grimaced, but he nodded.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’ll report back here no later than one o’clock in the afternoon on March 20th.  There is no refund if you are late.  Bring this form,” Lutz handed a signed copy of the approval to Remus, “the rest of what you owe, and your wand.  Nothing else, you won’t need it.  Good luck, Mr. Lupin.”  He rose and extended his hand, which Remus shook, standing up as he did so. 

It felt shockingly reminiscent of the memory he’d just allowed himself to relive for the first time in months.

* * *

**A/N: Thoughts?  Do you think this visit is a good idea?? You'll have to stay tuned to find out!**

**-C**

 


	5. The Secret He Told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering when the Remus POV and Sirius POV chapters would intersect...today is your lucky day! This chapter took a hell of a lot of time to write, not to mention lots of research and revision! Hope you enjoy :)

**Writing this chapter wrecked me.  Have fun!**

* * *

_**The Ministry of Magic, London.** _

_**March 20, 1988.**  _

The 20th of March dawned sunny and warm, the first real glimpse of spring London had seen all year.  Remus awoke feeling like he had a ten-ton weight in his stomach.  In just a few hours’ time, he would be in the one place he dreaded more than the Shrieking Shack—Azkaban.  He dressed in his best robes and used a couple of simple spells to clean up the frayed ends of his sleeves and remove the stains, then looked himself over in the mirror.  Satisfied, he pocketed his paperwork, wand, and the remainder of the galleons he owed.  As an afterthought, he stuck the photographs Dumbledore had given him into an inner pocket of his robes.  He wanted to have them so that even when he entered the no-doubt miserable halls of the prison, he could look at them and remember his real reason for being there.  He was already starting to feel sick, though whether that was the nerves or the approaching full moon he wasn’t sure. 

The clock read exactly noon, so Remus took a deep breath and Apparated to the gates of the Ministry of Magic.  He quickly ate at the Cauldron Café and then made his way back to the Corrections Office.  Inside, to his dismay, he had to take the Veritaserum test again to prove his intentions hadn’t changed, but after that and an inspection where he was checked for concealed weapons and magical objects, a small, rather harsh-looking witch entered the room with a clipboard to collect him.

“Miriam Twill,” she authoritatively.  “Remus Lupin? This way, please.”

To his surprise, the witch led him not deeper into the office, but down the hall and back to the lift he’d just taken.  “Do I pay now, er…?” Remus said uncertainly.

“Yes, thank you,” she said.  She took the bag of galleons and the form from Remus and pocketed them, then looked down her lumpy nose at her clipboard.  “We’ll be using Side-Along Apparition today.  We’ll depart from the Apparition room in exactly sixteen minutes, and return by four o’clock, or earlier if you’d like.  When we arrive, I will not be permitted to accompany you”— _thank Merlin_ , Remus thought—“but you will be escorted by two of the guards and permitted to visit briefly.  They’ll monitor you from a safe distance.  Should you need any help, simply conjure a Patronus and the guards will know to fetch me.  I’ll come get you out of there,” she said curtly. 

The lift lurched violently to the right and Remus nearly fell over.  “You’ll be searched again upon your arrival, I’m sorry, it’s policy,” Twill continued, unbothered by the elevator’s twists and turns.  “Do not bring anything but your wand, and do not speak to any inmates you may pass on the way to this cell.  No contact with the prisoner is allowed, not even a handshake, and so help you if you even attempt to exchange any items, magical or not, with the inmate.  And remember, it is not in the nature of a dementor to be forgiving, so do not give them any reason to harm you.”

If Remus was nervous before, he was petrified now.  His knees felt weak and he involuntarily reached for the small bar of chocolate he’d bought at the café.  Twill huffed.  “That’s a good idea,” she said.  “From the looks of you, you’ll need it.” 

Finally, the lift screeched to a halt in front of a pristine white door that almost seemed to glow.  Twill led Remus into a small, circular room, in the middle of which there was a shining circle hovering about four feet off the ground like a hula hoop.  It seemed to be made of molten gold, and around it stood three rather young wizards with badges that read “Authorized Apparition Guard."

“What is this place?” Remus asked.  He thought they would just be Apparating like normal.

“For transportation to places such as this, or certain overseas trips and the like, we’ve got to go though the department.  Can’t have people just popping off to Azkaban whenever they’d like, can we! Now, come along!”

The pair of them stepped into the golden circle and Twill locked her arm firmly around Remus’s.  It was an uncomfortable amount of contact considering they’d not even shared a handshake, but before Remus really even had time to register their closeness he felt a jerk behind his navel, and everything started spinning.

* * *

Remus knew within seconds of arriving that no photo could do Azkaban justice.  He felt downright dreadful the second he and Twill appeared on the grounds with a pop.  The wind howled around the tiny island and he was dampened within seconds from the spray of the sea.  It was neither warmer nor more pleasant inside the fortress, and Twill looked visibly uncomfortable as she walked up to what Remus could only assume was the prison equivalent of a front desk, run by a troll.  He supposed that was because no human could sustain such a job for long.  There were no dementors immediately inside the walls since the prisoners were kept on higher floors, but their presence was made clear by the air, which was so thick with doom it felt suffocating.

“Alright,” Twill said as she walked back to where Remus stood, rubbing his hands together to keep warm.  “The guards will be right down.  You’re to go with them, they’ll lead you to Black’s cell.  They’ll be nearby while you visit, but they know not to try and suck out your soul,” she said dryly.

Remus felt like vomiting, but his anger at Sirius helped him keep his wits about him.  “Is he…expecting me?”

“No,” Twill said.  “Inmates aren’t allowed any information from the outside save for the Daily Prophet.”

“Good,” Remus said coldly.  With any luck, maybe just seeing someone standing outside his cell would be enough of a shock to end Sirius Black right then and there.  He handed over his chocolate to Twill—not even that was allowed—and after the roughest pat-down search he’d ever received, the troll grunted his approval and all Remus had to do was wait.  A moment later, two dementors came gliding down the hallway, and ice filled Remus’s veins.  One beckoned to him and his feet seemed to move of their own accord.  With one last look at Twill, he was on his own.

* * *

It was like looking at the shell of a human being.  Sirius was decrepit, facing away from the hallway as if by muscle memory.  His shoulder blades and spine were visible where they protruded from under his thin prison garb, and his hair was so overgrown and neglected it looked like string dipped in black oil.  For five minutes, Remus couldn’t move, let alone think of anything to do that would announce his arrival.  Sirius was one of only three inmates on this floor—down the hall, separated by at least twenty yards of solid stone wall, were two Death Eaters the Order had put in Azkaban themselves.  The dripping of water and distant clanking of chains provided just enough background noise that it was neither quiet enough to call this cell silent, nor loud enough to be noisy.  The sounds were just audible enough to be maddening.  The dementors hovered some ways back, far enough that Remus could think straight, but close enough to make sure he knew they were there. 

That’s what made Sirius look up.  Dementors never went more than a few seconds without gliding past his door, and the slightly less miserable feeling brought on by their absence in the five minutes Remus stood in silence was a noticeable change.  When he turned his head and saw his bedraggled friend only ten feet away, he thought he had officially gone mad.

During the years he’d spent in Azkaban ( _so far_ , a voice in his head reminded him), he’d come to grasp just why it was so feared even by the worst witches and wizards there were.  It wasn’t just the being locked up that could drive a person mad—it was the being locked _away_.  Here, there was no contact with the outside world except for occasional deliveries of the Daily Prophet.  Apart from some screams and echoes, Sirius hadn’t heard a human voice other than his own since the Minister of Magic delivered his sentence, and it was torture to know that there was a world beyond these walls that he’d once been a part of and was now missing out on.  He’d been so isolated that just seeing Remus sent him reeling, for it was like looking at a ghost.

“Hello,” Remus finally said dumbly, his hands in his pockets.  His throat was tight with anger, augmented by the fact he was in the most dismal place imaginable.

Sirius’s sunken eyes widened, making him look utterly insane.  Slowly, he got to his feet and took two slow, menacing steps towards the bars of his cell, then charged at it, slamming himself against them and growling right in Remus’s face. He breathed heavily and squinted as though he still wasn’t quite sure this was all real.  He hadn’t seen another human being since the Ministry first brought him in here and he’d passed by some of the same people he helped capture—Rookwood, Dolohov, and Lestrange, to name a few. 

“Is that really you?” he breathed, his voice rattling in his throat like a cold north wind. 

Remus stood glaring at the man whom he would have once recognized as a friend, a brother.  He was so full of rage he could barely think, let alone speak, yet what surprised him was the underlying twinge of sadness he felt not for James and Lily and what Sirius had done to them, but for the state Sirius was in.  

“ _Why_?” Sirius whispered desperately, his grimy hands grasping at the bars like they were the only thing holding him up. 

“I had to.”

“I knew you’d come,” he said in a rushed, croaky whisper.  He didn’t dare himself to speak any louder, as if he might wake himself up from what was surely a dream.  He wanted to reach his hand through the bars and embrace Remus, but couldn’t.  “You’ve got to help me get out of here, they got it all wrong.  I never betrayed James and Lily, I’m—I’m innocent!  Please, you’ve got to help me.”

Remus flinched away; the groveling and pleading he had been expecting, but the fact that Sirius had the nerve to declare innocence was appalling.  “That’s not why I’m here.” 

Confusion flickered in Sirius’s eyes.  “Then why…?”

A light bulb clicked on in Remus’s head.  The photos. He’d brought the photos with him, and somehow they hadn’t been detected when he was searched.  It was risky; even showing them to Sirius could be interpreted as some kind of gift, but the two dementors were all the way down the hall...yes.  If anything could make Sirius show remorse, it’d be this.  Remus dug into his inner cloak pocket and withdrew the envelope Dumbledore gave him.  His fingers trembled with cold as he ripped the contents from inside, shuffling through until he found the photo of James and Lily, laughing as Harry tried to wriggle out of their hug.  He held it inches from where Sirius’s face was pressed against the bars of his cell.

“This is why.  You killed them, and ever since I’ve had to live knowing one of my best friends is the reason the other three are dead.”  His voice was wrought with anger and suppressed tears, but he maintained his stony expression.  “James. And Lily. And Peter.  Admit it.”

Sirius stared at the photo open-mouthed, tears brimming in his black eyes.  That picture, that perfect snapshot of what used to be and what should still be, hurt more than anything he’d gone through in Azkaban these last six years.  He’d almost forgotten what James and Lily really looked like, and Harry….oh, Harry…

“Admit it.” 

Sirius shook his head.  “Remus—”

“You sold James and Lily to Voldemort, didn’t you?!”  Fuming, Remus pulled up the picture of Harry on the broomstick, Peter’s hands just visible on the right side of the frame.  Sirius stared openmouthed, too distraught to say anything.  “Left Harry without parents, with no one!  You’re a traitor, we both know it, now say it!”

Innocence and guilt are two oppositional forces that almost always walk hand-in-hand.  Sirius knew he didn’t murder anyone and he certainly wasn’t a traitor.  But he wasn’t free of culpability, either.  His crime was his faulty intuition, a misguided gut feeling that he never should have trusted.  He thought he had known what was best for James and Lily, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.  The guilt he bore from that unforgivable blunder weighed him down like a thousand tons of stone, and would surely crush him until there was nothing left.

Sirius’s mind was reeling.  He was sure Remus would have figured all this out by now, he was sure that’s why he had come!  But if even Remus still thought Sirius was guilty, how could he have any hope of ever getting out of Azkaban alive?

“Do you have any idea what it’s been like?” Remus asked suddenly.  He didn’t trust his voice to go about a strained whisper.

That sparked a reaction in Sirius and he glared out from between the bars, his nostrils flaring.  “I could ask you the same.  You think _you’ve_ suffered?” 

Remus spat on the ground.  He shouldn’t have come.  He could see now that Sirius’s mind was as good as gone.  He’d convinced himself of false innocence, and hearing his lies only made Remus feel worse than he already did.

“Believe me, _I_ have,” Sirius continued sourly as Remus made to start walking away.  “Suffered.  Every day since I got here.”

“You mean every day since you killed them!”  Remus shouted, turning and getting right up in Sirius’s face. “You foul, repulsive traitor,” he said through clenched teeth, shaking with anger.  “You’re the reason they’re dead.” 

Sirius sneered right back.  “I don’t deny that, Remus, but you’re forgetting _I_ did not kill James and Lily, Voldemort did.” 

“Because you betrayed them!” 

“Because I was _stupid_ enough to involve Peter!” Sirius rebutted, fury in his voice. 

“By KILLING him!” Remus was beside himself.  How could Sirius stand there and act like what happened was caused by anything more than his own traitorous actions?  “Why the bloody hell are you laughing?”

Sirius was, indeed, laughing, but it sounded more like a pained wheeze.  “I _wish_ I killed Peter!” Sirius cackled shrilly.  “Should have killed him straight after we left Hogwarts!  That’s what I was trying to do when they dragged me in here!”

“You’re mad,” Remus said with a shake of his head, his voice breaking.  He would be lying if he said it didn’t pain him to see Sirius like this, a delusional traitor doomed to die slowly in isolation, but Remus knew it was what he deserved.  “James and Lily are dead because of you. It’s _your fault_.”

Sirius had let go of the bars with a frustrated growl and was pacing in circles, the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes sockets as he breathed heavily and rubbed them back and forth, trying to get a grip on himself.  Remus was right.  If only he hadn’t persuaded them to change their minds…or if he’d gone to Dumbledore…they would still be alive.  It was that truth that sunk to the pit of his stomach like an anchor, pulling him into a downward spiral that never seemed to end.  He then lowered his arms swiftly and balled them into fists at his sides, and all of a sudden, he screamed.  It was the most terrible noise Remus had ever heard, one that he didn’t know a human could make.  It was strangled, grating, and sounded physically painful as it reverberated around the walls until Remus was sure he couldn’t take any more. 

“I KNOW IT’S MY FAULT!” Sirius finally roared, whirling back around, his whole body shaking.  “But not because I sold them out!  I would _die_ before I betrayed my friends!”  His voice broke and he began sobbing, running his hands through his tangled hair frantically.  It was the first time he’d let himself really cry for as long as he could remember, and his ragged, hysterical breathing wracked his body to its core as he let out cries that sounded like a mix of barking and screaming. 

Again, Remus felt himself recoil because of the noises Sirius was making—they were repulsive—but it didn’t deter him from his mission to get the confession he came for.  “I don’t believe you,” he finally said, ice dripping from his words.

“We thought you were a spy,” Sirius said hoarsely after he controlled himself.  He sounded defeated, empty.  “So we never told you about the plan we had.”

This time, it was Remus’s turn to be dumbfounded.  Him, a spy?  He’d been on a bloody Order mission at the time Lily and James died, for Merlin’s sake! 

“You were undercover with the werewolves so often, never telling anyone when or where you went, and we knew someone in the Order had to be passing secrets to Voldemort because they got Benjy Fenwick and the McKinnons in the same week—" 

“And you thought I was doing it?  Not Elphias Doge, not Mundungus Fletcher, but _I_ was the most likely candidate?”  For a moment he lost track of the reason he was here—to prove Sirius’s guilt—and became intent on denying his own.

Sirius’s eyes darkened and he looked up.  “You know what it was like then.  We could barely tell which side was which.” 

“Clearly, seeing as it was you who went against everything we’d been working towards,” Remus accused.  “No question who’s side you ended up on.” 

Sirius was right about one thing, though.  People did whatever it took to stay safe during the war, and sometimes that meant switching between sides faster than Chasers pass a Quaffle.  And Remus had started to notice James and Lily distancing themselves from him—he stopped getting Lily’s monthly letters shortly after Harry was born—but he had always assumed that was simply because they were hiding and any communication was dangerous.   It never occurred to him that they suspected him of espionage, or that they hadn’t shut themselves away from everyone else just as equally.

“For the smartest of our lot, you can be really thick,” Sirius barked back, suddenly defensive again.  “I’m dying in here for a crime I did not commit.  I swear it.”

Remus shook his head.  “I don’t believe—” 

“If you would just let me explain!” Sirius sounded exasperated, and for a split second Remus saw the boy that was still there under the mask of the haggard man he’d become.  Sirius was always so impatient, but then again, so was Remus.  Sirius took Remus’s silence as consent and took a deep breath.

“We had a plan to keep James and Lily safe.  We were going to cast the Fidelius Charm on their cottage, that way they could never be found, even if Voldemort was right in their front yard.  Dumbledore offered to be their Secret Keeper but they refused and asked me instead.  How obvious, though, would that have been?  At the last minute I convinced them to use Peter, because who would suspect talentless Peter?” Sirius snarled at the very thought of the fourth Marauder.  “But he’d become a Death Eater in secret.  We had no idea until it was too late.  It was _he_ who told Voldemort, _he_ who betrayed them and _he_ who killed all those Muggles.”

Remus scoffed; the whole thing sounded absolutely preposterous.  “Peter could barely transform a teacup into a tortoise, and he nearly pissed himself any time someone so much as mentioned You-Know-Who.  These are lies, Sirius.” 

“Think, Remus!” he hissed, jamming a finger to the side of his head and baring his teeth.  “Think about how the charm works!” 

Remus did.  It was ancient magic, the Fidelius Charm, and extremely risky.  He knew that once entrusted with a secret, the chosen Secret Keeper was the only person who could pass along that information, and it had to be given voluntarily, not tortured out of them or extracted.  And even if others already knew the secret, they would be unable to tell it to anyone else once the Secret Keeper was chosen.  If what Sirius said was true, then from the second Peter was made the Secret Keeper, Sirius would not have been able to sell Lily and James to Voldemort even if he wanted to. 

“But,” Remus said, and Sirius nodded with desperate enthusiasm, his eyes bulging, “everyone knows where Godric’s Hollow is now.”  Crowds still flocked to that very location to pay their respects; it was practically a monument.  Remus refused to believe a word that came out of Sirius’s mouth, and Mary’s warning rang in his ears.  _Don’t let him make you believe anything you know isn’t true_.  Remus shook his head.  “It had to have been you. Peter’s dead! If he’d been the Secret Keeper then it would have died with him!" 

“Wrong _again_ , Remus!  The secret only dies with the Keeper if the Keeper hasn’t _told_ anyone else, you know that! But Peter was scared, he needed clarification on what his role was so he told the secret right back to me to be sure he got it right! Idiot,” Sirius muttered.  “But even if he hadn’t, it still wouldn’t have died with him because _he told Voldemort_!  Voldemort didn’t need to be able to tell anyone, because he killed James and Lily himself—he only needed someone to tell him where to go to do it, and Peter so kindly obliged,” he said bitterly.

“That would make Voldemort a secondary Secret Keeper.  That’s ridiculous.”

“Which is why this would never hold up in a trial, and probably why they wouldn’t give me one!” Sirius shouted, sounding sickeningly amused now by Remus’s confusion.  “And the Fidelius Charm died with James and Lily because they cast it, don’t you see?!  So now everyone knows the secret, because there’s no secret left to keep, and nothing left for the charm to protect! It’s all void.”  He flailed his arms with desperate bravado, as if conducting some invisible orchestra. 

Remus shook his head.  “You’re wrong.”  Tears of anger were flowing freely down his cheeks now; it was all too painful.  He should have known better—of course Sirius would have some cock-and-bull story at the ready, should anyone ever give him an opportunity to tell it.  He’d gotten loads of practice making up excuses for pranks at Hogwarts; this was just another elaborate fib six years in the making that he made up to get himself off the hook.  And then, lo and behold, who should show up but one of the people Sirius had been closest to?  It was a convict’s perfect scheme and Remus refused to fall for it.

He looked Sirius dead in the eyes with a pallid, unreadable expression and when he spoke, it was monotone, which somehow made his words carry more weight than ever before. 

“You deserve this.”  He let himself take in Sirius’s agonized reaction for a moment, then turned before his bottom lip could start trembling and betray him.  He walked briskly down the corridor, leaning on the wall for balance as his head spun.  He hadn’t planned on pity.

“Do I?” He heard Sirius ask quietly.  Remus turned slightly, keeping his eyes focused on a small rat’s bone lying near the wall.  “Let me see that picture again.”

Remus furrowed his brow, torn.  _Don’t let him make you believe anything you know isn’t true_.  But Sirius’s request had wedged a splinter of curiosity under Remus’s skin.  After a moment of tense deliberation, he swore under his breath and stomped back to the end of the corridor, slapping the photo of the Potters up against the bars for Sirius to see.

“Not that one, the other one, for Merlin’s sake Remus!”  So Remus found the picture of Harry on the broomstick and held it up.  “HAH!” Sirius exclaimed, making Remus jump.  “Those are Peter’s hands!”

“So what?”

Sirius licked his lips, extremely riled up as he peered at the photo.  It was like someone had breathed a bit of his tattered soul back into him, resulting in this animation.  It was now or never; if he couldn’t convince Remus in the next couple of moments, he had a terrible feeling he never would.  “So,” he said impatiently, “I gave Harry that broomstick for his first birthday, and they were in hiding so they couldn’t leave the house, so this must have been taken _in_ Godric’s Hollow sometime after July of 1981.  That’s months after they went into hiding there the Christmas after Harry was born.  You must understand now?” 

Remus was silent for a moment as he worked through what Sirius had said.  He didn’t want to admit it, but the math added up, and the facts were sound.  Peter’s hands were easy to recognize because of the small bronze ring he always wore.  It had belonged to his grandfather and there it was in the picture, dulled by the sepia tone but unmistakable.  Where was Sirius going with this?

“That means…” Remus began. 

“The Secret Keeper was already assigned at the time of this photograph!  Remus, if Peter wasn’t the Secret Keeper, then he wouldn’t have known _where they were_ , so how could he be in this picture?!” 

Remus’s heart was pounding out of his chest; this couldn’t be possible.  It felt like a hundred more dementors had swooped into the hallway at once—a cold chill crept down Remus’s back and his whole world started to swirl before his eyes.  It made no sense, yet the evidence was right there in front of him.  Because of the original plan, Sirius and Dumbledore still knew where the Potters were to go into hiding despite not being their Secret Keeper, but the only way Peter would know too was if he was directly involved with the Fidelius Charm.  Lily and James wouldn’t have told anyone who didn’t absolutely need to know so as not to dilute the power of the charm; with the war at its height, back then secrets were like currency, never to be gambled with and never shared with more than the bare minimum number of people.  Remus himself hadn’t even known where Godric’s Hollow was until James and Lily died, yet Peter was photographed there, which had to mean—

“He was their Secret Keeper,” Remus whispered.  Sirius made a gesture in the air as if to say _yes, finally!_ and for the first time, Remus slowly looked his friend in the eye with puzzlement, not disgust.  “But…Peter’s dead.  You…you killed him,” he said weakly.

Sirius shook his head, the lines on his forehead creasing with dirt and grime.  “I tracked him down as soon as I realized what he’d done.  Confronted him and all.  I should have just attacked him, but I hesitated, I wasn’t thinking straight.  You have to understand, I had just seen—” his voice broke and he heaved a sigh, and Remus could only imagine what images were playing through Sirius’s mind from that night that he couldn’t say out loud.  “That’s when he accused me, and blew the whole corner to bits.  Cut off his own finger so people would think he’d died and transformed just as Aurors got there.”

Remus felt the overwhelming need to sit down.  He thought he had known all the facts of that night.  He had tortured himself picking over every last detail after it happened and all signs pointed to Sirius.  But hearing him now, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.  “Where is he?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?  He disappeared, he had to if he wanted people to believe he was dead.  And anyone who still cares about that fucking _rat_ thinks he’s some kind of war hero; they gave him the Order of Merlin for fuck’s sake.” Sirius took a deep breath.  “Unless he’s found and proven to be alive, I don’t have a chance.”  Remus could hear fear, and even worse, a hint of defeat in Sirius’s voice; he truly was afraid he would die an innocent man in Azkaban, and what a horrible thought that was. 

“I’m sorry,” was all Remus could manage.  No apology could make up for all the hatred Remus had harbored towards Sirius for the better part of a decade.  Knowing the truth now, Remus felt he was the guilty one.   “I’ll—I’ll look for him. I’ll tell people you’re innocent—”

“No!” Sirius barked.  He lowered his voice.  “No.  You think anyone would believe a werewolf and a convict over Britain’s golden martyr?”

“So you’re saying you’d rather suffer in here than let me take heat in the papers for investigating?  You always were stubborn, but this is just foolish.”  Sirius was right, of course; he was so hated in the Wizarding community that if word even got out about this visit, Remus could be thrown into Azkaban too for allegedly aiding a criminal.  But still, after all this time thinking Sirius was the scum of the earth, Remus had to do something. 

“Let me help you,” he pleaded.

“Moony.”  Remus froze upon hearing his old nickname for the first time in years, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat.  Sirius beckoned him closer.  “Please—don’t go telling anyone about this.  The last thing either of us needs is attention right now, and they’ll never believe you.  But mind you—I’m going to get out of here.  I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I’m going to need your help when I do.  Can you do that for me?” 

His bony fist was wrapped around the bar again, and Remus almost placed his own hand on top of his friend’s but restrained himself at the last second, remembering that contact was forbidden.  Instead, his hand hovered an inch or so above Sirius’s frail one, and he nodded solemnly at the request.

In the absence of conversation and the presence of shocking truth, the gloomy atmosphere seemed to creep to unbearable levels.  They were two young men, both aged beyond their years, who had endured strikingly similar hells.  Both had lost everyone they held most dear, both had suspected the other at some point, and neither could escape the memory of the same horrific event that the dementors were forcing them to relive on loop. 

Suddenly getting an idea, Remus looked over his shoulder cautiously and took a deep breath.  He made up his mind and stepped back, drawing his wand.  “I’ll make sure this hangs around for a second after I go,” he said quickly. 

Sirius frowned.  “What…?”

“Expecto Patronum,” Remus whispered softly, but confidently.  He was careful to only conjure a small silver flicker at first, but it was enough.  He held his wand between the two of them, a small pocket of light, and Sirius felt, for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, warmth.

A thousand memories came flooding back to him all at once and nearly overwhelmed him, ones he’d been unable to access for years—being sorted into Gryffindor, meeting James, gallivanting with Remus on full moon nights, holding Harry for the first time.  It had been so long since he felt anything close to happiness that he didn’t know what to do with himself, so he and Remus just stood in silence, both relishing those fleeting seconds.  They locked eyes just once in those precious few moments and a thousand words passed between them, and a single tear fell from Remus’s eye.

Then, somewhere behind them, a door clanged loudly.  It was undoubtedly the dementors fleeing to alert Twill that Remus had conjured a Patronus, thinking he might need help.  “I’ve got to go,” Remus said hurriedly, sniffling.  Sirius let out a sound similar to a dog’s whine when its owner leaves, and it nearly broke Remus’s heart despite the glow of his Patronus.  He frantically stuffed the photographs back into his robes; it would be far too dangerous to let Sirius have them, as much as he now wanted to.  Besides, they might be the only evidence that could one day set him free.

Sirius nodded unhappily; Twill was seconds away. 

“Take care of yourself, Padfoot,” Remus said.  He flicked his wand again and his full Patronus appeared.  With one last look at his wrongfully convicted friend, Remus hurried down the hall before Twill could catch him, leaving the silver wolf so Sirius could have just a few more moments of peace.

* * *

**A/N: I would really love to hear what your reactions to this chapter are!  It's the one I've been most eager to post so far so I'd love to hear your thoughts! Did you love it? Hate it? What will happen from here?**

**This was a huge update so we're probably looking at around a week/week and a half until the next one, but in the meantime comments would really help keep me motivated!**

**Thank you to everyone who's shown interest in this fic so far; it means so much to me!**

**-C**


	6. Infectio et lupum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I had a wicked busy week and writer's block but finally, here's chapter 6!

Remus was in tears by the time he encountered Twill, who was on her way to retrieve him.  Neither said a word to the other until they were safely back at the Ministry and she had him sign two more forms.  The Magical Corrections Office registered his wand (“Protocol for anyone returning from Azkaban,” a squeaky-voiced wizard told him, but the words barely registered.), and then he and Twill parted ways with a quick “take care.”  She didn’t seem to want to review the trip any more than he did, for which he was grateful.

Being back in London so abruptly after spending time in Azkaban was a significant culture shock, even though Remus had only been away from the civilized Wizarding world for two hours.  How was it possible, he thought as he left the Ministry and stepped into the late afternoon sun that no longer warmed him, that all these witches and wizards brushing past were doing so without a care in the world that miles away, an innocent man was dying slowly?  Didn’t they notice, shouldn’t they care?

Remus’s feet dragged him back to his flat as if by memory.  He had neither the desire nor the energy to Apparate, and when he got home he went immediately to his bed and curled up on his side.  The extent to which Azkaban had affected him hadn’t registered until he closed his eyes and immediately flung them open again with a sharp intake of breath, having seen behind his eyelids the walls of the prison again, closing in on him and dripping mildew.  He still felt like he would never feel completely warm, and his heart ached for Sirius. 

The following week, Remus lived in a fog.  He replayed his conversation with Sirius and by doing so sent himself into fits of emotion so often that he actually considered investing in a Pensieve so that he could draw the episode out of his mind and never have to endure it again.  But that would be a disgrace to his friend, not to mention an absurd expense, and he was already indebted to Mary.  He wanted desperately to appeal to the members of the Wizengamot, ask them to reexamine the evidence and bring Sirius in for the trial he so deserved, but he knew that it would do more harm than good.  Like Sirius had said, no one would take the word of a criminal and a werewolf over half a decade after the fact.

On top of feeling completely and utterly drained, the first full moon since the visit was coming up, so Remus felt worse than ever.  Even during the most difficult months, he was still able to go about his daily life without too much trouble.  A shot of Pepperup Potion in a mug of hot chocolate was always enough to get him by in the past, but following the trip, he felt not just weary but extremely sick even after drinking a whole cup of the potion straight one day.

“Well, what do you expect?” Mary said, poking at her lunch.  He’d begrudgingly let her into his flat after she sent an owl insisting that she pay him a visit.  Apparently his behavior had risen to the point of concern, and she wanted to make sure he didn’t need to be admitted to St. Mungo’s, which he hoped was a joke, but it was hard to tell when it was put in writing and not said face-to-face.  “Of course you feel off, you basically went to hell and back.  I never did ask you in my letter, how was it?” 

_How was it._   She asked it as casually as if Remus was coming back from a trip to Hogsmeade.  His head started spinning and he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to articulate enough about Azkaban to appease his friend and keep her from asking more prying questions. 

“Dismal,” he said truthfully, forcing himself to swallow a spoonful of the soup he had made, which tasted like dishwater (though whether that was just his ailing body’s interpretation or his cooking skills, he wasn’t sure).  “Dementors are one thing, but the actual place…it’s much worse.”  He shuddered involuntarily and twisted in his seat to crack his back.  He groaned at the dull ache that spread down his spine, a telltale warning sign that this month’s transformation would be a bad one.

“I’m worried about you,” Mary said.

“You always are.”

“You always give me a reason to be,” she replied, and Remus had no response for that.  “You were there in March.  That’s nearly a month ago now, and you’ve hardly gone out in public or even left your bed for all I know.  That’s not normal, mate.  At the Ministry, I’ve seen people come back from bringing criminals into Azkaban and they always look a bit peaky, but they get over it just fine after a couple of hours.”

“A bit peaky?  _A bit peaky_?” Remus said incredulously. 

“I’m just saying,” Mary said placatingly, trying to keep the conversation from escalating.  She knew Remus was sensitive about the topic already.  “You’re more…well, to put it lightly you’re acting like you’re still there.  What exactly happened?”

_You know, I screamed at him and made him feel even more horrible about himself, only for him to show me proof that he never betrayed the Potters, proof that oh by the way I had brought_ with _me, and now I’m convinced he’s innocent and we need to get him released,_ Remus thought.

Right. That would go over well. 

He couldn’t tell her the truth, that much was certain.  He was still trying to sort through it himself and knew how implausible it would sound coming out of his mouth, and the last thing he needed was to lose the closest friend he had.  Well, the closest _free_ friend he had. 

“It was a lot more difficult to see him than I expected,” Remus said truthfully.  “I was angry already, and you know how dementors are, so I was reliving every bad thing that’s happened to me while I was trying to confront him.  And—” he paused, debating whether or not to say the three words dangling on the tip of his tongue. _I felt sorry._

“And what?” Mary prompted after a few seconds’ silence.

“—and he just looked terrible.  That place is really doing him in,” he finished quickly.

“Good, he deserves it.  Did you get what you went for?  You know, did he say anything to you?”  she asked, her voice sounding strained, angry.  It was, after all, painful for her to think about Sirius and his crime as well, having gone to school with him just like the others, not to mention saving his arse a couple of times on missions.  “Remus, stop, you’re making it dark.”

Remus looked up and sure enough, his apartment was dimming slowly.  He’d been clenching his spoon while concentrating so hard on suppressing his emotion and trying to formulate an acceptable answer that that energy had started to extinguish the lights.

“Sorry.  Well, yeah, we spoke,” he said, his throat tight.  “But he didn’t confess anything, he just…” he trailed off, unable to speak. _He made me believe things I thought I knew weren’t true_.  Mary took Remus’s broken sentence at face value and patted his hand sympathetically.

“I can’t say I’m surprised, a madman like him.”

Remus forced a very pained smile and abruptly wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up.  He walked over to the sink and stared out the kitchen window, trying not to display any signs of emotion, but Mary could see that his arms were shaking as he supported himself on the edge of the counter.   It took all the strength in the world to pull himself together, and he turned around to politely ask Mary to leave, but she was already gathering her things. 

“I’m sorry I’m not much good company,” Remus said, chewing at the sleeve of his sweater out of habit.

“It’s alright.  You seem sane enough,” she said with a touch of humor—so it _had_ been a joke, Remus thought with some relief— “You need more time, is all.  I can’t say I blame you; just seeing pictures of that place gives me chills, and not the good kind.”  Remus frowned; she seemed to think that the only cause for his sullen demeanor was the physical effects the prison could have. _Best hope it stays that way_ , Remus thought.  “Is it alright if I stop by again on Wednesday?”

Remus shook his head.  “Full moon, I’ve got to leave before then.”  Mary nodded sadly and took her hand off the doorknob, taking in her friend’s miserable expression.    She walked over and stood before him, placing her hands on his shoulders and meeting his tired eyes with a tentative smile.

“Well then, after,” she said with the tone of someone who was trying to sound optimistic in a terribly bleak situation.  Remus pulled her into a loose hug and she wrapped her arms around him, rubbing his back soothingly.  Inside, however, she was scared for him and the way he seemed to tighten up as they embraced made her heart clench with pity.  He had been making so much progress!  “Enough now,” she finally said, regaining her usual bright tone and pulling away.  “You take care of yourself.  Try to put it behind you, alright?”

At Remus’s nod, she left.  As soon as she closed the door and he heard the crack of her Disapparating, Remus went to the sink and splashed cold water on his scarred face.  It helped to clear his mind somewhat, and in that moment of clarity he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and his eyes widened.  He looked like a living ghost and knew he would have to do something to assuage the whirlwind of despair he felt.

At the root of it all was guilt.  He should have visited sooner, found out the truth sooner, done something besides drink himself away and scoop ice cream at the parlor for years.   And, he thought bitterly, a true friend would be doing everything in his power to help Sirius, but here he was in his flat, going on his third day without a shower, unable to shake two hours’ worth of being in Azkaban.  Two hours!  Sirius had been there seven _years_!  Remus was ashamed of how weak he’d become, and decided once and for all to get back on his feet and do something about it.  He may not be able to tell the public about Sirius’s innocence, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still help to prove it somehow. 

He had to find Peter.  It was the least he could do to atone for hating Sirius for so long, and besides, now he wanted to find him just as badly and make him pay for what he’d done.  Yes, he could take all his pain and anger and remorse and channel it into doing something more worthwhile than lying in bed feeling sorry. 

But what was he to do, round up every rat in Great Britain and count their toes?  It was futile, he thought as he sat down at his desk, scratching the back of his head with his wand and pulling out the box of newspaper clippings he’d kept from the months after James and Lily were murdered.  Maybe there was something in there that could give him a lead.

“Accio…every rat in London,” Remus said unenthusiastically, flicking his wand slightly.  Of course no wave of rodents came crashing through his door, though the next morning as he left his flat with his designated “full moon” suitcase, he did pass a newsstand and caught a glimpse of a small headline in the Daily Prophet. 

“ _Unusual amount of rats in Muggle tube station_ ,” he read, and actually laughed.

* * *

**Scottish Highlands, the next night.**

Remus’s whole body felt like it was on fire as the moon peeked out from behind the clouds.  He’d holed up in his usual place for this month’s transformation, miles and miles from any civilization, but even if he were in the right mental state to enjoy the beautiful scenery, he wouldn’t remember it in a few hours’ time.  With painful pops and creaking almost like that of trees bent by the wind, Remus felt his limbs elongating and coarse hair sprouting all over his naked body.  A pain that shot up his arms told him his claws had come out, and then came the worst part—the slow loss of control. 

It never happened instantaneously; Remus began his romps semi-aware of what he was doing, but within the hour he would quite literally lose all semblance of human mind power and completely assume the crazed disposition of a werewolf.  Purely out of habit, he could now almost always found his way back to the small tent he set up every month and by the time the sun rose he would limp inside, covered in mostly self-inflicted wounds, and then he would sleep until later that night. 

The first nights of this particular cycle were business as usual.  Remus spent a half hour cleaning himself up after each one and then fell into deep albeit restless sleep until the persistent crickets chirping outside woke him up for sundown. 

The last night was different, however.   Again, he felt fire in his bones as the moon cast what would otherwise be very pretty light across the highlands.  Pops, cracks, and all kinds of whining and moaning wracked his body until he’d reached his full form.  But this time, it didn’t stop there.  Remus felt a splitting pain at the top of his head and if he had been in his human form, he would have shrieked in agony.  It was like someone had cast the Cruciatus Curse with their wand pressed right against his head, only the wand was a white-hot poker.  He writhed on the ground and howled pitifully, thinking in his half-lucid state that this was really it, years of living as a werewolf had finally taken their toll, and his last moments would be spent as the creature he hated most.  But, Remus thought, he would surely rather die than endure this brand new torture even a second longer.

Suddenly, as soon as the pain had come, it stopped, and Remus lost consciousness.  He awoke the next morning in the same position but back in his human state and felt as though he’d been running for not just hours, but weeks even though from all he could gather, he hadn’t once moved the whole night.  His chest ached and his breathing was labored, not to mention he kept getting the occasional full body twitch of pain and remembered with shocking clarity how badly transforming had hurt the previous night.  It was as if someone had multiplied the usual experience by ten; he’d had bad months before, but nothing quite like that. 

He gave himself the whole day to recover before starting back towards home, and elected to take Muggle trains simply to give himself more time to rest.  He put his suitcase on the rack above his compartment and thumbed the flaking gold _R.J. Lupin_ embossed on the side, then collapsed into the seat, using his traveling cloak as a blanket.

_What’s happening to me?_ He thought, resting his head against the cool glass of the window and watching the fields flash by.  Needing something to take his mind off of things, he pulled out the days-old issue of the Prophet, the one that had the rat article.  It was just a small blurb wedged in the top corner of the front page next to an op-ed about Goblin-made versus pewter cauldrons, and the main story about how this year’s O.W.L. students at Hogwarts were projected to score the highest of any class in the last century.  That was a stretch, Remus thought, but he read on anyway as he nibbled on a bar of Honeydukes chocolate.

 “ _The fifth years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry look more promising than any class before them and almost eighty percent are expected to achieve ‘Outstanding’ on four or more examinations, a source tells the_ Prophet _._

_"‘Every year we do all we can to ensure that fifth year students are well-prepared for their O.W.Ls, as these tests often determine which career paths a young witch or wizard may follow,’ said Transfiguration professor and Gryffindor Head of House Minerva McGonagall._

_But this year, it seems they seem to be almost teaching themselves!_

_‘I must admit I have seen unparalleled efforts from our current O.W.L. students to do well and become wee prodigies of this fine establishment,” Headmaster Albus Dumbledore said, his weathered face shining with pride at the thought…”_

Remus frowned.  “Wee prodigies” was not a very headmasterly thing to say, and he glanced at the picture of the article’s author—some young blonde woman named Rita Skeeter who was smiling over a green quill and, according to the caption, had just started writing last month.  He sighed—if Hogwarts students preparing for standardized exams was front page news, at least that meant there couldn’t possibly be anything bad going on in the Wizarding world, at least not today.  He had half a mind to send in an anonymous letter to the editor expressing concern that maybe not all Azkaban criminals were rightfully imprisoned.  It would get people talking at the very least, and maybe even change things for Sirius. 

Then, as he skimmed over the mediocre O.W.L. article again, he was struck with a thought that seemed so obvious he mentally slapped himself for not thinking of it sooner.  _Dumbledore._  If there was anyone who would not only believe Remus but possibly be able to help, it would be him.Remus hadn’t seen the man since their impromptu meeting at Christmas all those years ago, and considering how well that had gone he wasn’t sure if Dumbledore would even agree to speak with him, but he had to try. 

At the very least, maybe the headmaster would have an explanation for that searing transformation that left Remus so debilitated.  Happy to finally have formulated a tangible plan, Remus relaxed and shut his eyes, hoping to get some rest on the long train ride back. 

_Sirius is innocent.  Sirius is innocent.  He didn’t do it, he was framed._   He kept thinking those thoughts to himself until he dozed off.  The words had an oddly comforting rhythm, and little did Remus know that back in Azkaban, the same lines ran through Sirius’s mind like a twisted lullaby that kept him sane.

* * *

**I hope you liked this chapter and I'm really excited for you guys to read the next one! What do you think will happen when Remus goes to Dumbledore?**

**As always, thank you all so much for your feedback; it really means the world to me and don't be afraid to give me more :P**

**-C**

 


	7. The Secret He Kept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE!! This took forever to write and it's my longest chapter yet. I'd rather give you guys longer, better ones less often than short, rushed ones every day so please don't hate me!! :')

**April 1988.**

Perhaps just because he was so excited at the prospect of getting Dumbledore’s help, it only took Remus a couple of days to feel healthy again as opposed to a full week.  He sent Mary an owl with a short letter explaining that he would be away for a couple of days again, but that he would love to meet with her as soon as he was back to go out for an actual meal (maybe Kingsley and some of the others could come too!).  

His high spirits carried him straight to King’s Cross station, where he passed through Platform 9 ¾ with an uncharacteristic spring in his step and then boarded the Hogwarts Express—unbeknownst to many, it actually ran fairly periodically throughout the year for visitors as well as students and staff should they need to make a quick trip elsewhere.   It was surreal being back on the train after so many years, but walking down the narrow corridor was more sweet than bitter and more than anything, it felt comforting.

There were a couple of other passengers making the journey that day as well—a few compartments full of students Remus assumed were returning from taking the Easter holiday, a wizened old wizard, and a couple of witches who, by the way they were dressed, must be faculty or at the very least, Hogsmeade shop owners.

Remus sat in the compartment he always did when he was at school and could practically hear James, Sirius and Peter inside it with him, surrounded by sweet wrappers and laughing because one of them had eaten a rather unfortunate Bertie Bott’s bean. He smiled to himself, refusing to let such fond memories go to waste in the wake of time and circumstance.  

The train groaned and rumbled pleasantly under his feet as it careened through the countryside; he always loved the mechanical soundtrack of wheels and iron. He associated all the squeaking, hissing, and grating of metal on metal with going home to the only place he felt truly valued by other people, so while others found the cacophony of steam engine noise headache-inducing, Remus wished he could bottle it up to listen to whenever he pleased.

* * *

The train pulled into the station at 7 o’clock and Remus half-expected to hear Hagrid’s trademark call of “Firs’ years, this way!” but instead the small group of students skipped off to the carriages unprompted and Remus trailed behind, his drab suitcase in one hand and his cloak draped over the other in the cool spring evening air. He preferred walking to riding in a carriage alone anyway; he could use the time to plan out what he would say upon turning up outside Dumbledore’s office unannounced.  Besides, despite the grim reason for his visit, he very much wanted to see the scenery of the grounds he hadn’t set foot on in so long.

“ ’Scuse me, sir,” Remus heard someone behind him say.  He turned to see a boy of eleven or twelve standing at the edge of the platform wearing faded corduroy pants and a dark green cloak over a rather threadbare grey sweater.  “I’ve missed the carriages as well.”  He looked expectant, as if it was Remus’s job to tell him where to go.

“You just follow the path up to the castle same way you would normally,” Remus replied patiently. The boy glanced again at the path and frowned.  He clearly did not fancy the idea of walking through the woodsy path alone as night fell. Remus looked at him pityingly; escorting a worried second-year up to Hogwarts was not exactly on his night’s agenda—in fact, he tried to stay away from children as much as possible—but he couldn’t help but see a bit of his younger self in the shabby-looking boy and his face softened.  “I’m going that way too; you can walk with me if you’d like.” 

The boy looked relieved and picked up his plain black traveling trunk, dragging it along the ground with considerable effort.  

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” Remus said, and the boy almost toppled over at the sudden absence of the trunk’s weight as it levitated behind him and started bobbing its way down the path.

“Cool, sir!” he exclaimed, his fears gone now that he was walking with someone who was clearly an experienced wizard.  “I’m Liam by the way.  Are you a professor?”

Remus didn’t know how to introduce himself to someone so much younger than he was, let alone someone suddenly so talkative. “Um…Mr. Lupin,” he said finally.  The title tasted funny coming out of his mouth. “And no, I’m not.  Just visiting.” 

“Why?”

Remus was beginning to regret offering to walk with the boy and he rubbed his temple momentarily before answering.  “I have to speak to Professor Dumbledore.”

“That’s what _every_ grown-up says.  Dumbledore this and Dumbledore that.  Why are you actually here?” Liam interrogated in a very James and Sirius-esque way.

“I’m really just meeting with the headmaster, sorry to disappoint you,” Remus replied with a slight smile at the way Liam narrowed his eyes.  He supposed the boy was trying to look tough and smart, but coming from such a young kid it was more amusing than anything.  

Liam filled most of the walk with chatter about his family—he’d gone home to visit them because “Mum really missed me,” though Remus suspected the feeling had probably been mutual—and the seemingly endless stream of commentary was a bit annoying but at least allowed Remus to looked around at the trees and signposts without having to say much himself.

He shushed Liam, however, as the castle came into view and his heart swelled so fast it almost hurt in his chest.  Every window of the fortress was alight with myriad candles and lanterns inside, and there was a soft glow surrounding the dark silhouette of Hogwarts against the horizon.  

“You said you went here?” Liam piped up.

“I did,” Remus answered breathlessly, not looking away from those walls and turrets he knew so well. “Those were the best years of my life.”

“ _Every_ grown-up says—”

“Yeah, I know,” Remus cut Liam off abruptly, not wanting anything to interrupt his view of home. “Ever think maybe they say it because it’s true?  Come on.”

The doors to the entrance hall opened themselves as the pair walked across the cobblestone courtyard. The fifteen-foot doors seemed to sigh as they clunked into place and Remus was happy to see that the interior of the castle, or at least what he could see of it so far, hadn’t changed since he first set foot there.  He didn’t even mind that he stuck out like a sore thumb, a late-twenties alumnus who had about as much business stopping in at Hogwarts as a giant would have strolling into Flourish and Blotts.  

He was _home_ , and all around him ghosts of little memories played out where they had first happened—he could see himself, younger and a little more round-faced, sitting on the bench outside the Great Hall with Lily and quizzing her on Ancient Runes in the last minutes before their exam.   Just to his left was the huge staircase he and James used to race each other up and down, until they each lost Gryffindor ten points for sliding down the banister.  Being back was the happiest he’d felt in months, and he reasoned with himself that even if there was nothing Dumbledore could do to help Sirius, at least Remus could go home having experienced a little bit of reminiscent solace.

“ _There_ you are!”  

Remus jumped at the sound of a stern voice he knew all too well.  “Professor McGonagall?”

The tall, thin witch had just rounded the corner and stood stoically about ten feet away in the entrance hall.  She had a few more wrinkles around her eyes and was dressed in tartan instead of her usual emerald robes, but otherwise she looked the same right down to her hat, which was as pointy and sharp-looking as ever.  

“Mr. Lupin!”  she said crisply, looking slightly surprised, but overall unbothered to see an old student standing before her at nearly eight o’clock on a Monday night.  “I’ll be with you in a moment.”  Remus smiled; her curt demeanor was the same and she waved him aside to attend to Liam, who was trying to hide behind his trunk under her hawk-like gaze.  Remus laughed to himself; he’d been on the receiving end of that very look several times before, either for causing trouble with James and Sirius or for failing to step in and stop their antics.

“S-sorry, Professor, I missed the carriages!” Liam stammered.

McGonagall pursed her lips and peered down at the boy.  “Then perhaps next time you will stay with other returning students instead of dawdling on the platform!  Your Head of House has had quite a time trying to find you, as everyone else returned half an hour ago.  Five points from Hufflepuff, Mr. Pettigrew.”

Remus’s heart plummeted to his stomach as Liam scampered off. _Pettigrew?_ His head spun and he shook it; surely that had to be a coincidence. He racked his brains trying to remember whether Liam had mentioned anything about having a dead relative as they were walking up to the castle, but he had tried so hard to tune the boy out that he couldn’t remember any details.

“Mr. Lupin,” came McGonagall’s voice, softer this time, and Remus blinked and met his former professor’s eye with a warm smile.  “May I ask what brings you to the castle with no notice?”

“Hello, Professor,” he said sheepishly.  He felt like a disobedient schoolboy again but didn’t mind in the slightest.  “I should have sent an owl to Professor Dumbledore, but this was a rather last minute plan…”

McGonagall’s tight-lipped smile grew and she placed a hand on Remus’s arm.  She was almost as happy to see him as he was to see her; though she might not show it as clearly as other teachers, any time she got to speak with a former student from her house was a pleasure.   

“I’m sure the headmaster can find time for you,” she said.  

“Thank you.”  He stooped to pick up his trunk at McGonagall’s inviting nod towards the hallway that led to the rest of the castle. Remus found her words a little hard to believe after how rude (and intoxicated, he remembered with a grimace) he had been when he and Dumbledore last met, but he followed anyway. “I hope this isn’t too much of an imposition.” 

“It most certainly is,” McGonagall replied, “but what can one expect after your time here?  You certainly had a knack for inconvenience, you and the others.”

Her comment might have sounded a tad rude to anyone else, but Remus could see humor twinkling in her eyes behind her spectacles and smiled as well.  He couldn’t put his finger on why, but just speaking with Professor McGonagall made him feel even better, even if she was making digs about his antics at school.  She was tangible proof there was more to Remus’s life than a tiny flat and depression, and he loved that she still treated him the same, though with that added friendly dynamic between former teacher and student that obviously hadn’t been forged yet when he was still at school.  

“Here you are,” she said as they stopped before the entrance to Dumbledore’s office.  “Kneazle snout!”

The griffin statue sprung to life and ruffled its wings as she said the password, then moved aside to reveal the spiral stone staircase Remus had ascended many times when working with Dumbledore to iron out all the minutiae of where to go and what to do during his monthly transformations.  

“Thank you, Professor,” he said softly. She patted his arm again and he turned to go upstairs. 

“Mr. Lupin!” McGonagall said again, and he turned over his shoulder.  If he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he could see tears brimming in her eyes.  “It’s good to see you,” she said, smiling thinly again.  It was one of the highest compliments Remus had ever received.

* * *

At first, Remus thought that McGonagall was mistaken and Dumbledore was elsewhere, for he didn’t see the headmaster in his usual seat behind his desk when he walked in.  The circular room was, as usual, full of silver instruments whizzing, spinning, and tittering on various stands and tables, and the portraits on the wall peered at him curiously, surely wondering who would come calling at such an odd hour.  

A tall glass cabinet containing hundreds of small vials filled with what Remus could tell were memories spun lazily in the corner, and the flickering light of a dozen hovering candles bounced off the many facets of the glass.  New to the office, Remus noticed, was a small sitting area to the left of the headmaster’s huge desk.  Two chintz chairs were situated so they faced each other across a small round table, upon which sat a teapot spewing puffs of orange steam.  Upon closer inspection, Remus was bewildered to find that the two armchairs were actually having a conversation with each other in quiet, scratchy-sounding voices that seemed to come from the plush cushions themselves.

“I see you’ve noticed my Amicable Armchairs!”  Dumbledore was standing in a dressing gown at the top of a spindly staircase in the back of the office.  It had never occurred to Remus before, but the stairs probably led to where Dumbledore slept and Remus was struck with a vivid mental image of the old man sleeping with his feet sticking out from the end of the blankets, a pair of owl slippers on the floor next to his bed.  

“Those were a gift from Bathilda Bagshot for my last birthday,” Dumbledore continued.  “I haven’t decided yet whether I like them or not. What do you think?” 

Remus was taken aback; he hadn’t expected Dumbledore’s first question to be about his opinion of enchanted furniture.  

“Erm…a bit unnerving,” he said honestly, and one of the chairs huffed “now _really_!” in an offended voice.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.  Despite the name, they’re not the most highly sought-after household item,” Dumbledore mused as he came down the steps.  “I’ve caught them talking behind my back several times.”  He sat behind his desk and motioned for Remus to sit as well, smiling serenely.  He conjured a chair similar to his own velvety throne and Remus sank into the cushions, a bit jittery now that he was actually in front of the man who could make or break his plan to help Sirius.  

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming,” Remus said.  “I know it’s unexpected.”

“On the contrary, this is quite convenient,” Dumbledore smiled.  “I was just about to head to sleep, but had a persistent itch in my left foot that kept me awake and I’m rather glad to have something to do to keep my mind off of it.”

Remus laughed quietly, not sure whether Dumbledore was being facetious.  “I only just got in on the train,” he explained.

“Yes, Fawkes told me!” said the headmaster, gazing fondly at the phoenix that was now snoozing on its perch next to them.  “He’s rather keen and quite perceptive of arrivals to the castle.  Tell me, did the Pettigrew boy find his way back all right?” 

Remus’s heart stuttered again upon hearing that name and he nodded, his mouth dry.  “I walked up with him.  Sir, his last name, Pettigrew…is that any relation to—” he couldn’t say Peter’s name, but Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap and nodded once to show that he understood. 

“Second cousins,” he said calmly.  “They never met.”  Remus nodded and swallowed thickly, not sure whether this information made him feel better or worse.

“Sorry, sir, I was just wondering.”

“Not to worry, to wonder is one of my favorite hobbies!  A most useful one, in many cases.  Speaking of which, I must address the hippogriff in the room and wonder myself what _did_ bring you here tonight.”

Remus scrambled for something to say that could ease them towards talking about Sirius rather than just bringing it up right away.  

“Well,” he said, as something else did occur to him, “last week was the full moon.  And…my transformation was the worst it’s ever been, pain-wise, I mean.  It was different, I’d never felt anything like it before, and I actually—” he didn’t want to say he fainted, that made him sound so weak— “lost consciousness from it, for a whole night.  I didn’t want to go to St. Mungo’s and ask about it, for obvious reasons, but I thought maybe you might know why that happened?”

If any part of what Remus had said alarmed the headmaster, he didn’t show it.  

“It is not uncommon for a werewolf’s symptoms to fluctuate throughout their lifespan, especially if they are prone to other infections and have a weak immune system,” Dumbledore explained, but Remus knew all that already.  “Was it a lasting pain?”

“Not really, it happened right after I transformed.   Usually it all stops and I just start…running around, but it was like someone hit the top of my head with a hatchet or something and after it stopped, I blacked out and woke up as myself again the next morning.  That’s never happened before,” he repeated. 

“Well,” said Dumbledore, “it is possible for traumatic events or exposure to Dark magic to augment symptoms as well.  It was a werewolf named Lycaon in the 1600s who discovered this, and began hiding out with purveyors of Black Magic in order to, for lack of a better word, absorb that power for himself.  But he was a very troubled, sick being; you are not.” 

“I’m not so sure,” Remus mumbled.   

“Since your Order missions, you haven’t had any contact with any kind of Dark forces, correct?  No cursed objects, old Death Eater stomping grounds, or Dark creatures?”

Remus was silent as he sat in his chair staring fixatedly at a chip in the wood of Dumbledore’s desk. His mind was back in Azkaban, where he’d spent two whole hours surrounded by fortified walls and dementors, which everyone knew were one of the foulest creatures in existence.  Was two hours enough time, though, to have such a drastic effect on him?  The visit was surely difficult and horrific, but Remus wouldn’t classify it as traumatic, necessarily.  Dumbledore’s words had him thinking that maybe he should.

“Remus?  Is there something you wish to tell me?”  Remus looked up at Dumbledore, who was staring at him with those sharp blue eyes.  He had once started a rumor about Dumbledore’s eyes in third year—that they were so piercing that if he ever took off his glasses and made eye contact with another person, their own eyes would shrivel up.  It was childish, but at the time he thought it was quite the laugh when no one would look at their own headmaster for a whole month.

“The Christmas you came to see me in the pub, the night you gave me those pictures—I was in a really bad place, sir, and I eventually realized I had to do something to get out of that slump.”  Calling it a slump was the understatement of the century, Remus thought, and even Dumbledore seemed to smirk a little at that word choice.  “It took a few years to get myself together, but once I did I, uh, came across some money and,” he took a deep breath, “I made a visit to Azkaban.”

Dumbledore blinked and straightened up a little bit, which was as surprised as he ever acted.  After a long pause, he spoke.  “So you’ve controlled your drinking, then?”

Remus was baffled; _that_ was all Dumbledore took away? “I—yes, but…sir, did you hear what I just said?”

“I’m glad to hear it; drunken debauchery looks good on only a lucky few people.  Oh, Remus, I confess I am not all that surprised,” he sighed. “Should I ever find myself in your position, I would likely do the same thing.”

“Thank you,” Remus said, still in shock that Dumbledore approved of what he had done.

“I’m sure I already know, but I’d like to hear it in your words: why elect to visit such a terrible place?”

Remus blanched a little; it was now or never.  “Sirius Black, sir.  I was so upset over Lily and James for so long that I decided confronting him in his cell and hearing him confess what he did would be the only thing that would give me closure.  So I went to see him.”  Dumbledore said nothing, so Remus continued, his heart beating fast.  It was one thing to admit to visiting a criminal in hopes of hearing some remorse, but another to suggest that such a notorious prisoner might be completely innocent.  “Professor Dumbledore, he’s dying in there.  I know him well, and he always puts on a brave face, but it was really, really horrible.”

“Forgive me, Remus, but it almost sounds as though you feel sorry for Sirius.”  Dumbledore sounded nervous and Remus could feel his face involuntarily tightening and his lips starting to shake, and he willed himself not to start crying.  He felt sorrier about failing to see the truth about that night in Godric’s Hollow than he’d ever felt in his life, even more than when he’d killed a farmer’s entire herd of sheep after running too far away during the first full moon after he left Hogwarts.  

“Wouldn’t you feel sorry seeing your best friend like that?  I mean, regardless of what he’s been imprisoned for?”

“I’m sure that I would,” said the headmaster weakly.  He rested his head in his hands, leaning on his elbows and rubbing his temples for a moment like a parent whose child had just asked a difficult question he did not want to answer.  He looked older than he had even just a few moments ago.  “May I ask you something?”

Remus nodded.

“Did you show him the pictures I gave you?”

Remus opened his mouth to tell Dumbledore that yes, he had, when suddenly a sickening thought occurred to him and he looked across the desk with mounting shock and horror.  It was no accident that Dumbledore had given Remus a photo showing Peter in Godric’s Hollow.

“You know?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.  

“Yes,” said Dumbledore wearily. “I know Sirius is innocent.”

Remus was sure his head would simply fall off from how fast it was spinning.  He started to get tunnel vision as the gravity of Dumbledore’s words pulled at him and made him feel heavy and dizzy, and as he got to his feet he immediately stumbled and had to grip the desk for support.  He should be happy he wasn’t the only one who knew Sirius was wrongfully arrested, but all he felt was betrayal.  Dumbledore had known all along, and chose to keep Sirius’s innocence secret from not only Remus, but the Wizarding world and the entire Ministry of Magic instead of using his influence to help him.  That, Remus thought, was a crime in itself.  

Dumbledore stood and circled around the desk, but Remus flinched away when he tried to help him regain his footing.  

“Don’t,” Remus said icily. He turned and stomped to the other side of the office, knocking over a table of Sneakoscopes in the process. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  he finally asked.  His voice was quiet but shook with fury.  “WHY DIDN’T YOU?!” he roared, whirling around with his wand in hand.

Dumbledore was standing ten feet away, one hand half outstretched in some kind of effort to appease the livid young man before him.  “I didn’t think it was in your best interests.”

“Oh yeah, how’d you figure that one?  I’d love to know,” Remus said scathingly, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Dumbledore had given him—or more accurately, planted on him—the pictures of the Potters only a couple of months after James and Lily died.  Had he really known for _seven years_ that it was Peter who should be in Sirius’s place and done _nothing_ about it?

“You have every right to be angry with me.  I am truly sorry—” 

“That’s not good enough. I have every _right_ to know exactly why you sat on this information for over half a decade!”

“Will you let me explain, then?” Dumbledore asked.  “I’ll admit that I was afraid,” he said before Remus could cut him off again.  “The night James and Lily were killed, Godric’s Hollow housed magic known to few people and understood by even fewer.  I was as shocked and confused as anyone, as I, after all, helped the Potters assign their Secret Keeper.  And I, like everyone else, antagonized Sirius Black after what happened because I believed him to be the one they entrusted, as we planned.”

Remus fisted his hands in his hair and tugged; every word that spilled from Dumbledore’s mouth was like a drop of boiling water splashing onto his skin and burning him bit by bit.

“Before I Apparated to Harry Potter’s aunt and uncle’s house to deliver him, I waited to make sure that Sirius Black was caught and arrested.  As soon as I saw that the Aurors had restrained him, I meant to leave, but—” Dumbledore paused as if he had lost his train of thought.  “I trust you know by now that I am a rather skilled Legilimens. Under the proper circumstances, I can view another person’s cognitive layers—”

“I know what Legilimency is!” Remus shouted.  He didn’t care about Dumbledore’s talents, he just wanted to know why this man, who was said to be one of the greatest wizards of all time, would act so utterly stupid.  

“—and accurately interpret their mind’s contents,” he finished.  “Like any learned magical skill, it is not so easily mastered as it is explained.  As the Aurors brought Sirius by, he looked at me and he had the wherewithal to let his guard down enough to allow me to see what had really happened as it played out in his mind.  It was as if he was imploring me to see the truth, and I did.  James and Lily never told me they switched Secret Keepers,” Dumbledore said, and his voice was heavy with genuine sadness.  “But I saw it in that moment.”

“So you’re telling me that you can read a man’s mind in two seconds and understand he’s innocent, but the Ministry can’t provide a hired Legilimens to do the same thing and clear his name?!”  

Dumbledore shook his head. “The administration wouldn’t allow it. It was enough of a melee already that night; between James and Lily, Voldemort’s perceived downfall, and Harry’s survival, no one wanted to hear that there was any gray area or doubt about what transpired.  The Ministry wanted it wrapped up, over and done with and written down for history’s sake, because everyone had had enough darkness at that point to last them a lifetime. They would rather hail the boy who lived than debate the culpability of his godfather.”

Remus wanted to spit in Dumbledore’s face; he was talking as if Remus hadn’t lived through that time himself.  Of course they wanted peace, but since when did that mean throwing people in Azkaban without a second thought?   _Yet you blamed Sirius too, without a doubt_ , a voice in his head reminded him, but he pushed it aside.

“Why keep quiet?  You didn’t think knowing my best mate was innocent might have helped me cope considering my other two were _murdered_?”

“I knew you would eventually figure it out yourself; that’s why I gave you the pictures.  But telling you then would have ruined you.”

“And this doesn’t ruin me? It doesn’t ruin _him_?!  You’re letting a man suffer in Azkaban because if I knew he was innocent it might have _hurt my feelings_? No,” Remus said vehemently, pointing an accusatory finger at Dumbledore, who had opened his mouth to speak.  “You think you’re so wise.  You think you know better than anyone else involved in a situation because you’ve lived longer, but your experience doesn’t mean you get to decide other people’s! You’re despicable,” he spat.

“You’re right.”

“You—what?”

“I said, you are right. I have a horrible tendency to think too far ahead down the wrong path, and it seems it’s happened again.  I did not want to inflict the pain of knowing Sirius was suffering without reason on you because you were already hurting so much. I feared it would break you, but I failed to consider that not knowing would have even worse consequences.” 

“Consequences,” Remus scoffed, rolling his eyes.  He was still shaking and forced himself to take measured breaths.  He was furious at Dumbledore for keeping this all a secret, at the Ministry for refusing to give Sirius any kind of trial ( _They could have given him Veritaserum and been done with the affair in minutes_ , he thought in despair), and at himself as always. Survivor’s guilt, the Muggles called it.

“I want him freed.”

“I have tried, do not for a second think that I haven’t.”

“Try harder.”

“I’ve ordered a summons from Azkaban every year since his arrest, Remus, at great risk to my own reputation.  Seven times I have been denied.”

“So your reputation’s more important than his?” Remus cried out.  He couldn’t believe that Dumbledore would even say such a thing.

The headmaster didn’t have a response to that, and he closed his eyes briefly, realizing how insensitive that comment must have sounded.  “Regardless of anyone’s reputation,” he said, earning himself another glare from Remus, “the Ministry refuses to budge and I will not stoop to such low levels as placing them under the Imperius Curse to get my way,” he finished in a low voice, and Remus started and flushed red—that exact idea had just occurred to him in his desperation.

Remus heaved in a heavy breath and sat down in his chair again, exhausted by the whole conversation. “Does Sirius know about all of this?”

“No,” Dumbledore answered, and Remus stifled an anguished cry.  “I have not been permitted to communicate with him at all, and frankly I am astounded you were allowed to visit, especially considering your condition.”

“I’m not on the Registry,” Remus said defiantly.  “And it had bloody well stay that way.”

“Of course.  I want you to know,” Dumbledore said slowly, “that I did not take knowledge of Sirius’s innocence lightly.  I even showed the Minister herself the picture of Harry on the broom.  Unfortunately, not everyone knows Sirius or Peter as you and I do, and she would not take what was essentially just my word over the testimonies of all the witnesses from that night.”

Remus shook his head. It was a very small comfort to know that Dumbledore had at least tried to free Sirius, but he could not forgive the man for keeping him in the dark all these years.  He could have been helping, he could have at the very least had hope, something he greatly needed every day.

“There’s got to be another way.  My friend Mary works at the Ministry and I can ask her how to put in a request for re-examination or something.  You can’t expect me to just sit here while my friend is trapped in a cell!  Can’t you at least track Peter down?  He’s an unregistered Animagus, a rat!”

“I am aware, and as such the Trace used to locate active Animagi will be useless.”  Remus wanted to scream in frustration; every idea he had was being shut down and he couldn’t help but think that Dumbledore didn’t really care if Sirius was free or in shackles, alive or dead.

“Is there really nothing I can do?  I’m proving him innocent with or without your help, sir, but with would be easier.”

Dumbledore looked Remus over, contemplating his course of action.  He wanted to believe as Remus did that there was hope for Sirius, but he could not drop everything to help and Remus surely would not be able to reach the people he would need to in order to have any chance of success. There was only one thing he could think to do that might help, but it would require a great deal of luck.

“Lilija Mistaj.  She’s an Undetectable who works in the Ministry—a private investigator, if you will, with a particular proclivity for finding runaways.  I’ll be frank: you cannot afford her.  But,” Dumbledore lowered his voice, “she’s been known to take a black market bribe or two.”

Remus nodded fervently and wrote down the witch’s name on a spare bit of parchment.  At this point, he would write to a flobberworm if it showed any interest in helping free Sirius.  Then, he remembered Sirius’s plea just before Remus had to leave the cell. _Don’t go telling anyone about this.  The last thing either of us needs is attention right now._ Remus had already disregarded the first part of that request by telling Dumbledore, but the fact remained that Sirius didn’t want Remus’s help, not yet. Suddenly conflicted, Remus stuffed the parchment into the pocket of his robes, figuring he’d rather be safe than sorry in case he did need an official’s help.

Just then, the door to Dumbledore’s office flew open and bounced of the wall with a resounding clang. Remus and Dumbledore both jumped nearly a foot at the sudden intrusion, and Fawkes awoke with an affronted squawk.

Severus Snape was standing in the doorway.  Remus hadn’t seen him since their Hogwarts days, but he had heard he’d started teaching at Hogwarts and couldn’t help but feel a coil of reproach tighten in his stomach. Snape’s eyes flicked towards Remus for a split second, but he acted as though the latter was not there as he addressed Dumbledore.

“My apologies, I wasn’t aware I was interrupting,” Snape sneered.  “Professor, there’s been an urgent owl from the Ministry.”

“By all means, enlighten us, Professor,” Dumbledore said with a smile as if Snape hadn’t walked into one of the tensest exchanges he’d ever had.

Snape entered the room with a swish of his black cloak and handed Dumbledore a very official looking envelope.  The seal on it had been broken and Remus could tell that Snape already knew what the letter said.  He tried to look over the desk himself, but Dumbledore tilted the parchment away so he could not see.

“News hasn’t reached the Prophet yet, but have no doubt, this is tomorrow’s front page headline,” Snape remarked dubiously as Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses and began reading.  

“Thank you, Severus,” said Dumbledore quietly when he reached the bottom of the memo.  “I will call a meeting with the Heads of Houses momentarily, you may wait outside.”

Snape didn’t look happy to be excluded after delivering what, from the look on Dumbledore’s face, seemed to be distressing news, but he nodded anyway and exited the office with a lingering scowl at Remus that harbored years of unaddressed hatred.  As soon as the door slammed shut again, Remus swiveled and faced Dumbledore, glaring at him menacingly.

“If you keep this a secret from me too, _sir_ , I swear I’ll—” 

“Sirius has escaped,” Dumbledore said hollowly, handing the parchment over.  

“ _WHAT_?” Remus snatched it from the headmaster’s hand, his eyes whizzing so fast across the lines of tiny script that he had to reread the words three times before he gathered their full meaning.

_TO: Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and Staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_It is with great necessity and regret that I must inform you that sometime between ten and two o’clock last night, Azkaban Prisoner #3484-1031, Sirius Black, escaped the prison and is now classified as a fugitive on the run. Minister Bagnold and my team of Aurors are doing all we can to ensure his swift recapture, but find it imperative that the staff of the school are properly informed before news reaches the public.  Take any and all measures to ensure the safety of the school and its students first and foremost.  Guards are available on your request._

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Head of the Auror Office_

“I must meet with my staff,” Dumbledore said urgently, getting up and disappearing up the staircase in the back.  

Remus was speechless, and his heart pounded in his chest.   _Mind you, I’m going to get out of here_ , Sirius had said.  And now he had, only a couple of weeks later. Remus wanted to jump for joy and slap Sirius across the face at the same time; escaping like this would only make him look even guiltier, not to mention it could condemn Remus himself as well!  How had he even done it?  Dumbledore reappeared dressed in day wear a moment later and Remus shot to his feet.

“Tell them what you told me,” he begged, but he already knew the headmaster wouldn’t.   “ _Please_.”

Dumbledore looked Remus in the eye for what felt like ages, and in that look Remus could see sadness, anger, fear, and guilt rolled into one pained expression.  He knew those feelings all too well and felt a rush of understanding for the position Dumbledore was in and what he could (and could not) do. The headmaster gripped Remus’s arm tightly as if that would make his next words more audible.  

“I have no doubt Sirius will try to find you.  You must be careful when he does.”

“Professor, what—?”

“I cannot be the one to save Sirius,” he whispered cryptically.  “Only you can do that.”

* * *

**Dun dun dunnnnnn.  What does Dumbledore mean?  Do you think his actions are justified, or was he in the wrong?  More importantly, WHERE IS SIRIUS???**

**Stay tuned for the next chapter; I hope to have it up around this time next week!  And please leave me some kudos and comments if you liked this :)**

**Thank you all for your continued support of this little story!**

**-C**

 


	8. Rebel with a Cause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE!!!! I forgot to mention this in the last chapter, but in case you haven't noticed, the timeline of this fic differs from the original books, and therefore some things (like Sirius's escape for example) happen at different times than they do in canon. So just keep that in mind!

**_Azkaban Prison_ **

**_April 1988._**  

Something had changed in Sirius after Remus’s visit; where for so long there had been a deep hole of despair smoldering in his chest, now it felt like someone was taking a shovel and slowly but surely filling it back in.  Even after the shimmering wolf Patronus flickered and dissolved into thin air, there was a new warmth to Sirius’s whole being, a flush of pink back in his cheeks, and most importantly, clarity of mind.  The downside, though, was that after that taste of the world outside his cell, Sirius was even more desperate to rejoin it and it led to an insatiable need to escape. 

Sirius knew he should take time to formulate a foolproof plan, but now the word “out” bounced around his mind to no end, slamming itself against the insides of his head as if it, too, was a physical being that wanted to be free.  When he transformed into his Animagus form the night after Remus’s visit, he’d had to return almost immediately to his human state because his first instinct had been to try and dig fruitlessly out of his cell despite it being on one of the highest floors of the prison.  He’d broken a couple of his brittle claws trying to make any kind of progress and the rough concrete simply hurt his paws too much to continue. 

It was reckless to try and escape now, he knew that.  It had been long enough since James and Lily’s murders that there weren’t daily headlines condemning Sirius anymore, but it hadn’t been long enough for the community to shove him to the backs of their minds.  What he really needed, he thought, was another equally terrible crime to happen so everyone would focus on that and he could slip away before anyone had noticed he’d gone.  He then cursed at himself for even entertaining such an awful thought.

Then again, hadn’t he always been reckless?  If it weren’t for that trait, he’d have never left home, never would have joined the Order, and probably never would have become friends with James in the first place.   

_If you never met James, he wouldn’t have died_ , a nagging voice in Sirius’s head jeered.  With an audible, frustrated growl as he paced his cell one night, he pushed that persistent thought away and forced himself to concentrate on all the things that supported his decision to try and break out now, to justify it and everything that would come with being an escaped convict if he even managed to get past the guards.  Though his mind was made up, he still had to convince himself to follow through. 

He was huddled in the corner of his cell as a dog, whining slightly to himself as he tried to fall asleep.  It was always a choice between two evils when it came to rest; he could either stay awake and have some form of control over his thoughts, but wind up exhausted, or he could sleep, but be subjected to whatever demons his subconscious decided to remind him of that night.   He finally started to doze off, still thinking of how he could possibly escape. 

The answer came to him in the form of creaking hinges and a clattering food dish.  About to succumb to letting his own mind choose tonight’s torture, Sirius heard the door to his cell swing slightly open.  One of the dementors had come to deliver his dinner, if one could even call it that—Sirius always got one plate in the morning and one at night, the absolute minimum mandated by the Ministry.  It was always dry eggs and stale toast with water at ten in the morning, then twelve hours (dementors never did have a good sense of time) until he got a serving of lukewarm soup, cheese on rye bread, and one small Cockroach Cluster he never would have touched before, but which was now almost a delicacy.

Sirius stared for a moment, then scrambled to the plate and began eating so fast it made his stomach hurt.  He looked up after he’d finished lapping up the watery stew and noticed that the dementor had haphazardly tossed it in when it opened the gate—the sandwich had actually fallen from the plate and landed an arm’s length away in a puddle.  Even now, watching the dementor glide away, Sirius could make out that it had its hands slightly outstretched as if it expected to run into something. 

_Of course_ , Sirius thought, and wondered how he’d failed to remember sooner, _they’re blind_.  And he knew from all his years spent in Azkaban already that it was much harder for dementors to affect him, let alone even sense him when he was in his Animagus form.  Suddenly gleeful, he wagged his tail and ate his soggy sandwich as happily as if it were a five-star meal.

For two weeks, Sirius watched carefully as each morning and night, a dementor dropped his food ungracefully into his cell, the hinges of the door creaking with the ominous mixed sounds of entrapment and potential freedom.  There was just over a forearm’s length of space whenever the door was opened, and it was only there for a fleeting moment.

For those two weeks, he ate nothing but the soup, which left his body soon enough anyway, and remained a dog around the clock.  Every day he strategically arranged crumbs and crusts on his plates to make it look like he’d eaten, then slipped them in the return slot where they would magically disappear.  He kept himself amused by watching the rats that came to eat his leftovers, and half-hoped one of them was Peter also suffering in this hell. 

His stomach rumbled constantly but the murmur of anticipation in his heart was more powerful, and soon enough he was sure that he’d become a thin enough mutt that he’d be able silently slip past his guard and maybe even snatch that cheese sandwich on the way out. 

Three more days passed in which Sirius attempted to follow through on his plan, but reckless and determined though he was, for three more days he braced himself to dash through the door and out of the prison as fast as he could, only to get cold feet when the time came.  He was, for the first time in a long time, terrified.  He could be caught, even worse, he could be Kissed, and then he’d never see Remus or the outside world again.  And Harry—Harry would only ever come to know him as a murdering traitor, and the thought of that was almost too much to bear. 

The next day dawned gloomy but dry, and he knew he had to make his move now or risk starving to death.  It was the longest day Sirius had ever experienced, even worse than his first one in prison which he thought would never end, and by the time ten o’clock at night came around he was shivering with excitement and had to take a moment to calm his breathing down.

Sirius did it so fast he hardly had time to register that he’d left his cell before his paws hit the cold ground outside it.  He darted instinctively into a dark corner and for a split second he thought the dementor—whose cloak he’d surely brushed on the way out—was going to round on him and perform the Kiss right there.  It took all of Sirius’s willpower to push down the waves of fear surely rolling off his body, lest the dementor be able to sense him standing only a few feet off to the side.  But it simply paused, slammed the door shut, and glided down the hallway like a deflated black balloon.   

Once it was out of sight, Sirius took one last angry look at his tiny cell and growled before padding slowly down the hallway then breaking into a run as soon as he reached the stairs.  He raced past the heavy doors that led to other floors of inmates, down the spiral staircases so fast he became dizzy, and through the lobby where the fat troll was snoring against the wall.

One of the fortress’s main doors was slightly ajar—the exterior guards were rotating out right on schedule, which meant Sirius had maybe a minute before the dementors that had just completed their shift would come inside.  Without stopping to think, because that would do no good at this point anyway, Sirius pushed through the door and gulped in his first breath of fresh air in seven years.  He trotted in an excited circle once, chasing his tail out of pure bliss, then dove headfirst into the water and headed for the mainland with one thought in mind. 

_I have to find him_ , Sirius thought determinedly as he paddled as fast as he could through the choppy waves.  _I have to find him._

* * *

  ** _Diagon Alley_**

**_June 1988._ **

**_Two months after Sirius’s escape._ **

“Three sickles and a knut’s your change—oh, thank you!”  Remus said brightly as the customer, a young witch with three children he assumed she was nannying for, dropped one of the sickles into the tip jar, which squeaked “ _and a good day to you too!_ ” merrily as the bell on the door chimed.

He looked into the small dish of coins hopefully but frowned; it contained only a couple of bronze knuts, one sickle, and a rolled up pound note that someone’s confused Muggle parent had left.  He shook his head dejectedly as he grabbed his wand and started making his rounds around Florean Fortescue’s parlor, cleaning the tables with simple spells.  He had been working almost nonstop since returning from his visit to Hogwarts.  Florean was kind enough to take Remus on for four out of the five work days as well as weekends, but even though he was working almost overtime Remus didn’t have nearly enough to pay Mary back.

No matter how many times she bracingly told him it wasn’t the end of the world if he took longer to pay her back than expected, he still felt obligated to hold up his end of the deal.  So far he’d repaid her twenty galleons, but amending his debt took up nearly all the time that he hoped he could be using to find some way to make contact with Sirius now that he’d escaped.  He’d written to the Ministry Unspeakable that Dumbledore recommended, Lilija Mistaj, but supposed his vague letter asking her for more information of her services wasn’t considered captivating enough, as he never got a response. 

Besides, since Sirius broke out of Azkaban, the Daily Prophet was printing a new headline every day about him—how he may have done it, what to watch out for, and who to contact should there be a sighting ( _“You, too, can catch a criminal!”_ a sidebar boasting all sorts of detector spells read.).  The risk Remus would face if he came in contact with Sirius was incalculably high.

“I’ll be with you in a moment!” Remus called over his shoulder; he’d heard the front door open again, allowing two seconds of chatter, pops, creaks and other noise from out on the streets of Diagon Alley to enter with the two new customers.  “Feel free to take a look around, the flavor of the day is Acid Pop Sorbet.”  Remus winced at that greeting that he had to give every customer; Florean was rather fond of rhymes. 

“None for us, just here to drop this off,” said a burly wizard in high-collared black robes.  He and the other Auror—and high-level ones too, judging by the platinum badges they wore—stood dubiously in the center of the shop, looking around at the pastel blue and pink walls as if they were entirely offensive.  “Cassius Whorle, this here’s Herring,” the wizard introduced himself and his partner, who Remus vaguely recognized from Hogwarts.

“Remus Lupin,” he replied, hastily wiping his hands on his apron.  “Drop what off, exactly?”

Whorle thrust a stack of parchment at Remus and the latter felt his heart twinge when he looked down and saw Sirius’s face scowling back up at him from a wanted poster.  

“Updated version with what he migh’ look like now,” Herring said gruffly.  “Put ‘em up on the wall, or window, wherever they can be seen.”

Remus swallowed quickly and nodded, trying to look enthusiastic.  “I’ll stick it in the ice cream display then,” he said with a slight laugh, but the Aurors either missed his humor or found it entirely unamusing.  He nodded to break the uncomfortable silence and shook the posters promisingly as the Aurors turned to leave.  

“You haven’t—you haven’t got any leads, have you?”  he called after them, trying not to sound too curious. 

“Why, hoping you’ll be the one to catch him?” Whorle said with a mirthful glower at Remus as if he couldn’t imagine someone like him ever being useful.

“No,” Remus replied coolly.  “But it is bad for business having Aurors barging into the shop.  I was just wondering if you’d actually gotten anywhere." 

Whorle and Herring sneered in such perfect unison Remus would have laughed had they not been so irritated.  _And large_ , he thought. 

“When we hear something, you’ll be first to know, how’s that?” Whorle said in the same mocking tone. 

Sensing that the conversation was over, Remus nodded curtly and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when the door shut behind them.  He glanced down at the posters again; Sirius looked just as he had in Azkaban, but then every few seconds the moving mug shot changed to depict what he might look like in different disguises.  _Flash_.  Sirius in a bonnet.  _Flash_.  Sirius with a handlebar mustache and bushy eyebrows.  Remus chuckled as Sirius scowled up from the page wearing a tweed suit, his hair dyed a vicious blond, and Remus saved one of the posters to show to him if they did happen to cross paths.

“What was that ruckus about?”

“Aurors,” Remus replied without looking up as Florean himself strode out from the back room, his work robes smattered with any number of ice cream flavors.  “New wanted posters, where should I put them?”

“Rubbish bin seems like a good enough spot,” the owner joked; he was sick and tired of Sirius Black “inhibiting the growth of this fine establishment!”  It was his view that the posters scared children off, and he felt he was losing his main customer pool with each day that passed with no news of Sirius’s recapture.

Remus smiled ruefully.  “Window it is, then.” 

“Yes, I suppose we must.  What’s that they’ve done to him?”  Florean hopped the front counter—for a man of forty, he was quite nimble—and peered around Remus’s elbow, so close Remus could smell hints of Popping Peach (Florean’s newest flavor creation) on him.

Remus cocked his head as the Many Faces of Sirius Black rotated on the poster once more.  “I reckon they’re trying to show people how he could disguise himself.” 

Florean scoffed at the ridiculousness of the whole idea and Remus had to stifle a laugh too as he glued the parchment to the windows with a temporary Sticking Charm.  Sirius already had the perfect disguise, and it definitely didn’t involve a bright purple Bowler hat.

Remus flattened the last poster against the window and had just raised his wand to give it a tap when he caught something out of the corner of his eye.  He could have sworn he saw some kind of animal darting around the street, but quickly shook it off.   It wasn’t unusual to see any number of creatures in Diagon Alley—after all, the Magical Menagerie was only five buildings down, and the matron there, Amyah Pelt, was always complaining that customers left the door open and let her animals out. 

Then, there it was again, weaving through shoppers’ legs as it made its way up the street.  _No_ , Remus thought, his heart pounding.   _No, that can’t be_.   ‘Risk’ might as well have been Sirius’s middle name, but he wouldn’t be thick enough to go plodding through the social center of wizarding London in broad daylight.  _Yes, actually, he would_ , Remus thought, his lips pressed in a tight line.

His eyes widened as he saw a large black tail swish out of sight, and nearly tripped over himself as he hopped off his stepstool. 

“Hey, Florean?”  Remus called out, his voice rather high-pitched.  The strawberry blond shopkeeper looked over as he carefully levitated tubs of ice cream out from the storage room and into the display case to take the place of the empty ones. 

“Alright there, Lupin?” he asked. 

“Erm—” Remus tried to sound casual.  “Listen, d’you mind if I take off early?  I can make up the hours…stomachache…” he fibbed on the spot, desperately glancing out the window again.  It was probably nothing, but he had to be sure.  That tail had looked all too familiar.

Florean checked the spindly clock on the wall and saw that it was well past the usual rush.  “Go ahead.  We’ve seen the most of the day anyway.” 

“Right, thanks.”  Remus hung up his apron hastily and punched out, then darted out into the bright sunlight.  He was greeted by a wall of hustle and bustle; there never seemed to be a slow day in Diagon Alley, and despite the constant coverage of a supposed murderer on the loose, everyone was going about their shopping with usual hurried pleasantries to one another and jovial laughter. 

Remus nudged his way past a wizard whose cat sat on his shoulder, looking perfectly normal except for its red eyes and forked tail.  It hissed menacingly and the wizard mumbled his apologies (“ _Behave_ , Dante, you infernal beast!”), but Remus paid them no mind.  He’d seen the dog turn down a side street that peeled right off the main alley, and set his jaw before heading in that same direction. 

“Fucking idiot,” he mumbled to himself as he walked; if that really was Sirius, he’d give him an earful for choosing here and now of all places; that much was certain.

“That’s no way to talk!” a plump witch holding a plate of free samples outside Crackle and Snap’s Fudge Shop gasped.

“Sorry,” Remus said, and reached for a sample in an attempt to make amends, but the witch jerked the platter out of his reach with a _hmph!_

He was about to apologize again when up ahead, he heard a hauntingly familiar bark and took off jogging towards it.  Every now and then he’d catch another glimpse of what he was now almost certain _was_ Sirius, posing as a stray.  He followed it for at least fifteen minutes in a huge circle until he found himself once again on the main street of Diagon Alley, just one block from Gringotts.  Sitting on the top step that led up to the bank and wagging his tail excitedly, was a great black dog Remus knew all too well. 

“Excuse me,” he mumbled as he passed a small group of young witches who were ogling at the dog, cooing and pointing and beckoning him closer.  They glared at Remus as if he’d interrupted their gazing and Remus rolled his eyes.  “There you are, uh, Snuffles!”  Remus pulled the name out of thin air, not wanting to use ‘Padfoot’ and not daring to call Sirius by his real name. 

The girls laughed and the clear leader of the group stepped forward.  “Is that your dog?  Can I pet him?”

Remus looked incredulously at her; she was staring at him expectantly as he stood on the steps with Sirius—well, Snuffles—whining excitedly by his feet. 

“No,” he said sharply.  “He bites.”

Ignoring the girls’ expressions at his rudeness, Remus gave Snuffles a pointed look and jerked his head to the right.  He didn’t look back, but knew Sirius had gotten the message and was following him as he wound his way through shops and vendors’ tables with occasional calls of “here, boy!” over his shoulder until they’d reached the outskirts of Diagon Alley.  Once well out of view of passersby, Remus grabbed Sirius by the scruff of his neck and Apparated.

* * *

The two of them—man and dog—landed in a clearing in the middle of a dense forest Remus used to hike in with his parents.  He knew it well and it was far enough from the surrounding Muggle towns that there was only the tiniest sliver of a chance they’d cross paths with anyone else.  Sirius quickly bounded into the trees and out of sight as Remus sat down on a rock to catch his breath, his heart beating wildly. 

“I don’t bite.” Remus heard the amused voice behind him a moment later, and he turned slowly.  Where “Snuffles” had been a moment prior, Sirius stood in the clearing, his tattered prison clothes hanging off his thin frame.  He was smiling lopsidedly almost as though he’d forgotten how to do it.  “Why’d you tell those girls I do?”  

There would be time to yell at Sirius later.  In that moment, all Remus felt was a tumultuous rush of emotion and, his scarred face breaking into its own grin, he practically flew across the clearing. 

The two of them met in a crushing embrace.  As malnourished as he was, Sirius hugged Remus so tightly it was hard to breathe, and he honestly never wanted to let go.  Sirius was dirty and mangy, but Remus didn’t care as he pulled him into the hug, tears welling in his tired eyes.  A moment later, they broke apart, both trying to cover up the fact they were sniffling.  Remus was still holding Sirius’s shoulders as if he couldn’t believe he was actually there, and Sirius was shaking, overwhelmed by the first bit of human contact he’d had in nearly eight years. 

“You’re mad,” Remus said weakly, and though Sirius was crying, he laughed through it, which sounded like a strangled bark but was laughter nonetheless.

“ _I’m_ mad?  Who’s the one who came up with _Snuffles_?” His prison-weary voice sounded like wagon wheels grinding over broken glass, but still carried its familiar air of amusement. 

Remus smiled wider than he had in years.  “Well, I had to think quickly!   _Someone_ decided to show up in the middle of Diagon Alley, for Merlin’s sake!”

The two of them stood in silence for a moment and despite years of lost time, each knew the other was still the 20-something-year-old they used to be, however deep down that past self might have been buried.  Sirius finally drew in a sharp breath and his sunken eyes brightened.

“Have you got any food?”  he asked hopefully. They both moved to sit on the boulder and Remus conjured up some bread and tea, much to Sirius’s dismay.  “I haven’t eaten anything proper in years and this is what you come up with?” he whined, but Remus gave him a knowing glance. 

“Come off it, you’re as thin as a bowtruckle.  You’ll do more harm than good eating a full meal right away!”

Sirius grumbled something about having eaten nothing but mice for the last month and how he deserved at least some pie, but the way he moaned upon tasting the warm bread Remus had made didn’t go unnoticed.  Sirius ate slowly, savoring it, while Remus sat beside him with a comforting hand on his back the whole time.  Sirius looked over and smiled in gratitude every few seconds; each time he was sure he’d look up and Remus would have disappeared, but each time he was still there, right there.  Only after he’d finished and wiped his mouth with the back of his grubby hand did Remus take his hand off Sirius’s shoulder.

“It was really daft of you to come to Diagon Alley, you know,” Remus whispered softly.  

Sirius shook his head and readjusted his sore body with a groan so he could look Remus in the eye.  Even having been out of Azkaban for nearly two months now, his joints still creaked and popped painfully whenever he moved.   

“Crowds are the best place for me,” Sirius countered.  “No one looks twice at a stray dog in the city.”

“But you weren’t in just any city.  You were walking past your own wanted posters in a place where everyone knows who you are!  You could have been caught.”  

Sirius picked at his thumbnail and looked at the ground; Remus had a point.  Animagus or not, he had to be careful.  

“They’ve got no clue where I am,” he said reassuringly, referring to the several Aurors that were assigned to track down and recapture him.

“Well, _they_ came into my work today looking pretty damn determined.  Although,” Remus remembered with a happy jolt, “this is their latest strategy.”  He pulled the crumpled wanted poster from his pocket and Sirius roared with laughter when he saw how they’d animated it.

“See?” he said gleefully, pointing at himself in some ludicrous outfit, “No clue!”

Remus appeased his friend with a chuckle, but his face hardened soon enough.  “I mean it, Sirius.  Have you kept an eye on the papers at all?  People think you’re out to get Harry!” 

Sirius’s heart leapt at the mention of his godson.  “But I’m not!”

“Oh, good!” Remus exclaimed sarcastically, his patience waning.  “Bloody brilliant!  Why don’t you just march into the Minister’s office and say so?  You’re a wanted man, Sirius, you can just go walking through London, disguised or not.  We’re not at Hogwarts anymore.” 

“Why in the name of Merlin’s saggy trousers would people think I want to kill Harry?”  Sirius twisted to keep his eye on Remus, who had gotten up and started pacing on the grass.

He gaped at Sirius; surely Azkaban hadn’t addled his brains so much that he’d forgotten why he was thrown in there to begin with? 

“I don’t know, it might have something to do with the fact that everyone thought you were James and Lily’s Secret Keeper,” he said coldly.  “They think you’re out to finish the job!  In case you don’t remember, James and Lily died; Harry didn’t!”

“I remember clearer than anyone, thanks.”  Sirius glared at Remus, his eyes following him as he shuffled around.  “And you know that’s not the job that needs finishing.”

Remus sat back down quietly and his and Sirius’s eyes met, chocolate brown clashing with dirty, icy gray.  “So that’s why you broke out, is it?  Peter?  You’re going to search every—” 

“I broke out for Harry,” Sirius interrupted coldly.  “And you.”  He didn’t seem to be able to look Remus in the eye as he said it.  “I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

Remus felt like he’d been Stunned; he expected Sirius to be hell-bent on revenge.  He had every reason to want to wreak havoc in Peter’s life just as Peter had in all of theirs.  And he was touched to hear that part of Sirius’s motivation was Remus himself, but finding Harry…that was a distant fantasy every way he looked at it. 

“I am happy to see you,” Remus said softly, “I just don’t want you to risk your life for the sake of seeing me.”

Sirius nodded, but Remus knew all too well that wherever his friends were involved, Sirius would do anything and everything he could for them. 

“Do you remember what I told you when you…when we last saw each other?”

“Which part, the ‘I’m innocent’ Dungbomb you dropped on me or the part where you made me promise to keep it a secret?”

Sirius smiled wryly and shook his lank hair back from his face—at school, that had been an annoying habit, but now, Remus relished every detail that proved the old Sirius was still there. 

“The part where I told you I’d need your help when I escaped.” 

“Of course.” 

“Well, here I am.  Peter will get what’s coming to him, I’ll make sure of that,” Sirius said darkly, and Remus didn’t doubt his words for a second; Sirius was terribly good at following through on threats.  “But first we have to clear my name, Remus.”

“You know escaping like this only made you look more criminal, don’t you?  And how are you going to prove you’re innocent before you find Peter?”

Sirius took a deep breath.  “When I see him again, I’m going to commit the murder I was imprisoned for.  I swear it.  I won’t be able to stop myself.  And if he’s dead, there’s no proof, so I have to be cleared before I go after him or I’ll never be.”

“What happened to breaking out for Harry and me?” Remus said nervously.  He was all for seeing Peter get his come-uppance, but not if it came at the expense of Sirius actually becoming a murderer. 

“We have to clear my name,” Sirius repeated, “so we can do what we should’ve done from the start.  Take him in.  Then I can go after Peter.”

“You’re barking,” Remus said.  “A werewolf and an escaped convict raising a kid?  That’s more dangerous than it would have been to leave Harry in Godric’s Hollow.” 

“I’m not joking,” said Sirius.

“And I’m not laughing,” Remus replied.  “I just think—” 

“ _I don’t bloody care what you think, Remus!_   I’m his godfather and I _did_ leave him,” Sirius cried, his voice breaking.  “I should have taken him straight from Godric’s Hollow; if I’d never gone after Peter he’d never have blown up the street and framed me—they would have caught him!  And I—I could have explained it all!” 

Sirius looked on the verge of collapsing and Remus rushed forward to support him.  Sirius cried openly into Remus’s shoulder and Remus didn’t know what to do so he just held him comfortingly like he might have held a child if ever he had one.  It was a messy plan full of holes, but Remus knew that when Sirius set his mind to something it was damn near impossible to change it. 

“Okay,” he croaked.  “Okay, I’ll help you.  But Sirius—please, no more walking around like you did today.  Find somewhere safe to hide out and I can Apparate to you.” 

“No—how would you find me?  Neither of us has an owl, and I can’t send a Patronus without a wand.”

Remus frowned; he’d forgotten Azkaban snapped prisoners’ wands beyond repair and destroyed them, and the longer a person spent there the weaker any skills like Apparition became.  “Well…we’ll figure something out, alright?”

“Let me stay with you,” Sirius said emphatically.  “Please, Moony.”

Remus opened his mouth to say absolutely fucking not, when all of a sudden they both heard a twig snap nearby.  Sirius transformed back into Padfoot in the blink of an eye and Remus already had his wand at the ready as he squared off against whatever this potential threat might be. 

“Homenum Revelio,” he said shakily, and his wand seared hot in his hand: there was definitely someone there, most likely one of the Muggles that lived in a nearby village.  Sure enough, an older man appeared with a walking stick just a moment later. 

“Hello!” the man said cheerfully.  “Fine day, innit?  Nice dog you’ve got th—”

“Obliviate,” Remus said clearly, and the man blinked and waved before turning around and walking right back the way he came, looking rather dazed.  Remus turned to Sirius, who was sitting in the dirt with his tail between his legs and looking positively forlorn.  After a moment’s tense deliberation, Remus sighed heavily and grabbed Sirius by the fur around his neck again.  “Alright.  _Fine_.  But you do not leave my flat.”

 As he Apparated them both right back into his living room, Remus thought that the look of joy that had spread across Sirius’s face at his words just might be worth the danger he was about to put them both in.

* * *

**I loved writing this chapter and I'm happy to say that I've outlined the next three already! I'd love to hear your thoughts as always; comments are more valuable to me than galleons, so please leave some!  And thanks again for all your support :)**

**-C**

 


	9. Incarcerous

**Diagon Alley, London.**

**June 21, 1988.**

The human mind is fickle mystery; of that one can always be absolutely certain.  

Remus was no exception, and even when everything else in his life was in more disarray than a pile of clothes tossed pell-mell onto an armchair, he could always depend on the ups and downs his own brain took, which, though thoroughly unpredictable, seemed to be one of the only constants in his life. 

Just a few months ago, he had to force himself to get out of bed because each step tired him as if he had bricks for feet, and he could barely muster the energy to smile at customers while working.  But now, with Sirius staying in his flat, Remus felt like the ten-ton weight on his shoulders had simply melted away.  Or, it had at least lessened enough that he could stand up straight. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t have fear—he was constantly wary of the possibility of being caught housing a criminal, or of Sirius one day growing too sick of being locked away and deciding to go for a walk through the streets again—but that trepidation was balanced out by the comfort of having one of his best friends within arm’s length at nearly all times.

“I told you this would be good for you,” Sirius said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.  He had been staying with Remus for almost a week, and though he was never the type to enjoy remaining indoors, he didn’t dare mention that out loud because he knew Remus was risking everything just to keep him safe.  Besides, Sirius was in desperate need of recuperation, and he was still only just starting to get used to being able to actually eat when he was hungry.

Remus smiled ruefully as he tucked into his own breakfast.  Usually he didn’t have time to sit down before work, but this was his one day off (at least until his next transformation).

“Last I remember, you begged me to let you come here.  It’s much more convenient for you, after all,” Remus said.  “You tested the protective spells again, right?”

Sirius nodded.  “Couldn’t open the door if I tried.”

The second he and Sirius had Apparated and crash-landed in the living room, Remus fortified his flat with every security charm and enchantment he could remember, and even taught himself a few that had only just been developed in recent years.  The goal was not only to keep people out, but also to keep Sirius in.  He bewitched the windows to appear dirty and opaque from the outside, cast Concealment Charms on the curtains and kept them shut any time he wasn’t in the flat, and fastened six locks to the front door, including three that resisted _Alohomora_ and one that only clicked open if someone sang it an old Welsh lullaby.  

He had also dug out one of the Dark Detectors Mad-Eye Moody had given each member of the Order and placed it by the front door, cast a clever little hex on his tiny porch that gave off a strong smell of horse dung to any visitors in an attempt to deter door-to-door saleswizards, and he made sure Sirius stayed in his Animagus form any time Remus had to open the door to go to work.  To top it all off, he’d cast an Imperturbable Charm on the whole exterior of the flat, one of his favorite enchantments: even if he transformed right in his living room, no one outside would hear a sound.

“As if anyone would come looking for me here anyway.” Sirius continued, wiping his mouth off sloppily on the back of his hand as he looked around at the small, overwhelmingly bland apartment.  Remus discretely handed him a napkin.  “Thanks.”

“Wow, tell me how you really feel,” Remus said with a dry smile, but he knew the last thing Sirius meant to do was make a dig at Remus’s home.

“I didn’t mean—Moony, this place is a luxury suite compared to where I was.  Really, it’s more than enough.”

“Too late.  My heart is crushed, get out.” Remus tried and failed to keep a straight face as he flipped through the Prophet.

“Piss off,” Sirius laughed, which he’d been doing more of lately.  It was beginning to sound more and more natural every day.  “I only meant that no one will think to look right in the middle of London.  Hiding in plain sight is the oldest trick in the book.”

“Which means they might expect it from you,” Remus pointed out.  Sirius quirked an eyebrow and stared at Remus across the table with an air of challenging amusement.

“Please, this administration?  Are you forgetting they thought Bertie Hinchcliff was a Death Eater?  The Hogwarts Express conductor, remember?” 

“Are _you_ forgetting Kingsley’s heading the team out to capture you?  The Ministry may be incompetent, but he’s not.”

Sirius fell silent and ate his next few bites without a peep.  Remus waved his wand and a pitcher of water flew to the table to give him a refill.  Sirius nodded his thanks as Remus directed it to top his glass off as well. 

“Well, he’s not getting any competency points in my book,” Sirius mused, “seeing as he hasn’t figured out I’m innocent.  No one has, ‘cept you, or if they have they’re not talking,” he added bitterly. 

Remus’s stomach lurched.  “Dumbledore’s worked it out for himself,” he whispered, preparing for a maelstrom, but Sirius merely furrowed his brow.

“Has he really?”  Sirius asked quietly.  He had leaned back in his chair so it balanced on two legs and Remus bit back the warning he’d always mutter when Sirius used to do the same thing in class— _“You’ll fall on your arse and lose us all points_!” 

“Yeah, he told me.  I know, I know, I broke my promise,” Remus said tiredly, for Sirius’s eyes had flared upon hearing Remus had in fact told someone else that he’d visited Azkaban.  “He knew from the day you were arrested, he said you let him into your mind or something.”  There was no point hiding the truth from Sirius; Remus felt too guilty in doing so, and after twelve years shut out from the world, Remus figured Sirius deserved to be in the know. 

“Well, he’s a Legilimens isn’t he?  I thought he could help.”  Sirius let his chair fall back on all four legs with a loud thunk, looking resigned and bitter.  “But I’m finished, then.  If Dumbledore knew all along and still couldn’t get me out, how the fuck are _we_ supposed to clear my name?”

“I don’t know,” said Remus truthfully.  He’d considered several possibilities—acting like he was dragging Sirius in to the Aurors, only to make them watch as he drank Veritaserum and told them everything, Confunding Kingsley, even stealing a Time-Turner and making sure Peter was caught instead—but each ploy was as unfathomable as the next, and Remus was at a loss.

Sirius sighed and started to pick at the skin around his thumbnail.  “So what next?  I just live out the rest of my days hiding in your living room?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Remus joked, and the ghost of a smile flickered across Sirius’s features.  In truth, Sirius would rather that fate than the alternative: getting thrown back in Azkaban.  He doubted he’d last one day back in that cold hell after having warm food again, a real place to sleep, and clean clothes (however shabby and oversized they were on him, Sirius swore he’d never wear anything that felt as comfortable as Remus’s old jumpers did after seven years in prison rags).   Still, as nice as it was to be alive and well and with Remus, Sirius knew they couldn’t keep up this act forever and would have to formulate a plan to clear his name sooner rather than later.

“Can’t I at least come to your work one day? As Padfoot, of course.”

“No.” 

“I won’t get caught!”

“ _No_.”

“Alright, I heard you the first time!”  Sirius raised his hands in defeat and let them fall back into his lap. 

“I’m sorry, but I am not losing you because you wanted to go and chase Billywigs in the sunlight.”

Sirius scowled, but he knew Remus was right.  Still, all he wanted was a few hours’ time to roam around, just a small window where he was free to romp without having to worry about the possibility of having dementors literally on his tail. 

Sirius sighed.  “It’s just that—”

He suddenly froze like a dog that’s seen a squirrel, and Remus gripped his wand instinctively—he’d heard it too.   There were footsteps coming up the stairs that led to the door, and they were coming quickly.  “Who is that?” Sirius mouthed silently.  Even with Silencing Charms, one could never be too careful.

“It’s me!”  

Remus heard a familiar voice outside that was shortly accompanied by a quick knock on the door, and although his heart was pounding, he breathed a sigh of relief.  

“Is that Mary Macdonald?” Sirius whisper-shouted.  He hadn’t even thought of her for years, and had almost forgotten for a moment that people he used to know still had lives that they were quite busy living.  “What the bloody hell is she doing here?" 

“We’re friends,” Remus hissed back.  “Go!”  They exchanged a look and Remus jerked his head towards his bedroom door.   Sirius nodded and loped down the short hallway as fast as he could to hide.  No more than a second after he heard the lock on his door click, Mary knocked loudly again—three sharp taps, hardly any space between them.

Remus fought an internal battle over whether to pretend he wasn’t home—it wouldn’t be too hard, seeing as the place appeared deserted from the outside now—or to let her in if only for the sake of not arousing any suspicion.  He glanced furtively towards his room and bit his lip hard before going to the door and checking the peephole.  It was, indeed, just Mary, so he started undoing the locks one by one, finally singing the short tune required to unlock the last one under his breath. 

“What are you doing here?”  Remus said quickly, echoing Sirius’s question once he finally opened the door just wide enough to fit his thin frame.

“It’s good to see you too,” Mary laughed.  “Do I need a reason to visit my friend?  And can I come in?  It smells like dung out here.”

Remus couldn’t help but grin inwardly; the hex worked! 

“Erm…yeah, alright,” he said, his heart thumping again.  He knew Sirius would stay put, but he shuddered to imagine what would happen if something went wrong and Mary found out there was only a wooden door between herself and someone she believed to be an escaped murderer.

“What died on your porch?” Mary joked again, waving a hand in front of her nose as Remus opened the door wider. 

“I’m near the dodgy end of the alley; everything smells like dung here." 

Mary accepted his statement and nodded like he had a point, then frowned as her eyes fell on all the locks fastened to the door.  “Guarding something?” she asked, her voice slightly wary.

“Yeah, my flat!” Remus exclaimed indignantly.  “Haven’t you been reading the Prophet?  There’ve been loads of robberies lately.  Told you, the dodgy end.”

In actuality, there hadn’t been so much as a child shoplifting from Flourish and Blotts, but Mary seemed to buy Remus’s fib and she frowned a bit like she was wondering whether she should invest in a couple of her own padlocks. 

“Tea?” asked Remus, though it was admittedly still early in the day.

“Yes, please.” Mary nodded as she took off her light traveling cloak and hung it on the coatrack and Remus, glad for something to do, lit the stove and got to work.  He got out the sugar and the small canister of white tea he kept by the toaster oven—a nifty little Muggle gadget he always loved making toast with as a child—and prodded the teapot with his wand so it filled with water.

“Is someone here?” Mary asked curiously.

Remus nearly dropped the teacup he’d just picked up to wipe off.  He took a moment to focus again and then, without looking over his shoulder, said, “You’re my only friend, Mac, who else would be here?” in what he hoped was a casual tone.

“Well…you’ve got two plates set out,” she observed, pointing to the kitchen table where his and Sirius’s plates were still sitting, half full of food.  Remus mentally cursed himself for not putting them in the damn sink before he let her in.  He turned around and looked at her; he had no idea what to say to cover this one up, and blushed fervently as he averted his gaze to his feet, hoping maybe the floorboards would give him a hint.  Suddenly, Mary gasped.

“Remus Lupin, you slag!” she said as if she’d just heard a juicy secret. 

“What?” 

“Are you finally back in the dating pool?”

It took all of Remus’s willpower not to display any outward signs of relief; she must have thought he’d gone out the night before and brought someone home!  Reeling from the close call, he played along and nodded, avoiding eye contact as he poured them each a cup of tea.  He mumbled something along the lines of “Yeah, they just Apparated, yeah…you must have just missed them…” and Mary plopped down at the table, looking quite pleased.

“Well, you’re a real gentleman, making breakfast for…him?  Her?  Not that it matters.  I’m just happy for you, I was starting to think you’d never put yourself out there again!  I mean, for a while there you always used to—”

“Well, you know me…” Remus awkwardly interrupted her gushing over him, and turned the dying sentence into a cough as he had no idea where he was going with it.  Close with Mary though he was, he had no desire to talk about his dating history right now when he knew perfectly well Sirius was listening in and hadn’t heard anything since the time years ago when Remus went home with a bloke he later found out was a vampire.  _That_ story Sirius knew very well, and he used to tell it whenever he got the chance because he found it bloody hilarious. 

“Anyway. I’ve got loads to tell you!” Mary chirped, and Remus perked up.

“Yeah?  What happened?”  He asked, happy for the change of subject.  Mary launched into a long-winded story about how she’d been under a lot of pressure at work (“They don’t pay us nearly enough for all the time we put in, you know!”) and how she’d visited her cousin in Cokeworth the previous weekend (“What a dreary place, have you ever been?”).

Remus nodded and made noises of agreement whenever it made sense to, but he wasn’t really listening.  He knew it was rude to tune Mary out, but he couldn’t help it.  Any other time he would welcome a visit, but he felt jittery and nervous and he was counting down the minutes until it’d have been long enough that he could politely ask Mary to leave. 

Meanwhile, Sirius was sitting with his ear pressed against the door, trying to catch snippets of the conversation.  He knew Mary fairly well, she’d been at Hogwarts the same time he was and they’d done some good work together on Order missions.  Still, he doubted she’d be very understanding if she knew he was there.  After all, she’d been close with Lily and no doubt blamed him for hers and James’s deaths just like everyone else.  His heart had stopped hammering, but he was still quite anxious for her to leave, and he wondered why Remus even let her in in the first place. 

She seemed, though, to be just as lovely as Sirius remembered, and he couldn’t help but smile as she teased Remus, wrong though her assumptions were.  Her visit might be inconvenient, but he was glad that Remus had had at least one person to talk to all those years Sirius was imprisoned.  His smile died, however, when he heard Mary speak again.

“…but the Ministry’s so hopeless it’s no surprise they haven’t caught him yet,” she declared, and Sirius pressed his ear even closer to the keyhole.  The wheel of conversation had spun again and landed on him.  “They don’t even really know where to look, do they?  I reckon their ability to catch Dark wizards died right along with You-Know-Who.”

“You really think he’s a Dark wizard?  Sirius?  Sirius who used to curse Slytherins until they had tentacles coming out of their ears?” Remus said with a short laugh, and from his spot behind the door Sirius felt a burst of gratitude at the way his friend stood up for him.

“You _don’t_ think he is?  After what he did?  Who was it who destroyed half his own things in a rage when he found out what happened?”  Mary said patronizingly, and Sirius’s heart twinged.  Had Remus really done that? 

“You’re telling me that you don’t think that Sirius Black escaped to join up with You-Know-Who again,” Mary continued, more as a disdainful statement than a question. 

“You just said Voldemort’s dead,” Remus countered, and Sirius could visualize Mary cringing at the name. 

“Well, so it seems,” Mary replied coolly.  “But I do think it’s a little concerning that one of his followers just _randomly_ decided to break out of Azkaban.  Why else would he do it if he didn’t have someone to go running back to?”

“Sirius couldn’t even follow rules at school, I doubt he’d follow someone who called himself the ‘Dark Lord.’”

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not!  It’s just…trust me, that’s not why he escaped.” 

_Stop talking_ , Sirius thought desperately at Remus, willing his thoughts to travel through the door and into Remus’s head.  _Let her think what she wants, agree with her, don’t fuck this up._

Remus shouldn’t have said that, he knew it.  “Well, you’ve seen the papers,” he said slowly, trying to cover his tracks.  “They think he wants to kill their son.  Remember Harry?” 

“Of course I remember Harry.”  Mary sounded annoyed.  “Black betrayed all three of them but then You-Know-Who screwed up and Harry lived!  So Black probably wants to kill the kid to finish the job and then go right to wherever You-Know-Who’s hiding and tell him!”

Remus couldn’t help but shake his head.  “I don’t think it has anything to do with supporting Vol—” 

Mary hissed again.

“— _demort_ ,” Remus finished with a pointed look at her.   “It’s just a name, you know.”

“Well I don’t like it,” Mary snapped.  “ _You_ tell me why he escaped then, you’re the one who visited him!”  

Back in Remus’s room, Sirius was aghast.  Dumbledore, Mary…who else knew about their meeting? 

“Hang on,” Mary froze with her teacup halfway between the table and her lips.  “You’re the one who visited him,” she said again, and Remus began shaking his head slowly, his eyes growing wide as hers narrowed.

“No, _no_.  I know what you’re thinking,” he said carefully.  “I didn’t—”

“You bought his way out of there!” Mary cried shrilly.  “Using _my money_!” she added in a frantic whisper. 

“No I didn’t!” 

“You could be arrested for that, you know!  And I could be tried for aiding and abetting!”  She was raising her voice and once again, Remus was glad he made the outside of the flat Imperturbable or he was certain that the customers in the Apothecary below would hear Mary’s accusations.  Remus tried to speak again, to explain, but there was no getting through to Mary now and she sounded like she might burst into angry tears at any second. 

“I did not pay anyone to let Sirius go free,” Remus said truthfully, hitting the table with his hand to emphasize his point.  “You of all people should know that’s not why I visited, and besides, it took all the money just to go in the first place!”

“Then you helped him,” Mary said shakily.  She stood up and backed away like she was afraid of Remus.  “I knew it.  Where is he?”

“Mary—” 

She drew her wand.  “Tell me where he is.”

Remus stood as well, and kept his mouth tightly shut.  He looked at Mary pleadingly, imploring her to give him a chance to explain.  Still, he kept his wand at the ready in case he needed to give her the same treatment he’d given the man in the forest.  He really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. 

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll search this flat myself.”  

“If you search my flat, I’ll have to Obliviate you.”

“So you _are_ hiding him!”

Sirius sat with bated breath as he heard the scene unfold, and in his mind’s eye he could picture them squaring off over the loveseat, wands drawn.   Of course, if anyone struck first it would be Mary.  Remus was far too soft with spells sometimes, he always had been, especially when friends were involved.  Sirius knew he had to do something before Mary started tearing the place apart looking for him.

_Don’t come out_ , Remus thought over and over again in his mind, willing Sirius to stay put and let Remus handle this himself.

But—and Remus wasn’t totally surprised—he heard the door opening behind him and his heart plummeted as Mary looked down the hall and stifled a shriek as Sirius emerged, his hands held out in front of him in precaution.  He hoped his lack of any weapon and the fact that he was wearing normal clothes instead of striped pajamas might give Mary some comfort, but she looked white as a sheet. 

“Incarcerous!” She yelled suddenly, pointing her wand at Sirius, but Remus flung himself in front of the spell and blocked it with his own at the last second.  The ropes that had sprung from Mary’s wand went limp and fell to the ground in a heap, then disintegrated into thin air.  Sirius attempted a step forward but Remus held him back, his arm still outstretched as a sort of shield between Sirius and Mary, who was breathing hard.  Her eyes darted between the two men so fast it was a wonder she didn’t make herself dizzy from it.

“I didn’t break him out,” Remus said, cutting the thick silence.  “He came and found me.  I’m helping him.”

“Help— _helping_ him?!  He’s a mass-murderer!  Don’t tell me _you’re_ going to betray the Order too!”

“I didn’t betray anyone,” Sirius cut in, and if looks could kill, Sirius would have been dead on the floor from the glare Mary gave him.  “Not intentionally." 

“Oh, that’s great!” Mary said shrilly.  “Good to know you helped You-Know-Who kill James and Lily and murdered thirteen people _by accident_.”

Remus straightened up and looked at her again, his hands raised to show that he wasn’t going to curse or jinx her.  “He’s telling the truth.  I don’t expect you to believe either of us, but he is.  If you’ll just sit down, we can expl--” 

“You’re mad.  Both of you,” Mary said weakly.  She was still pointing her wand in Remus’s direction, but her hand shook and she lowered it a couple of inches as her expression twisted from anger to sadness.  

Remus knew how she must feel.  She was scared, indignant, upset and embarrassed all at once, and he felt sorry that he’d put her in such a position.  He wanted to explain to her that this was their battle and theirs alone, that he would never mention that he used her gold as they tried to clear Sirius’s name, and that she could hold him to that promise, but the words wouldn’t come. 

“Are you going to turn us in?” asked Remus plaintively after a long, tense pause.  He would understand completely if she went straight to the Minister of Magic.  She was standing and shaking her head, but it wasn’t an answer to Remus’s question: it was just a show of pure dismay.

“I should have known,” Mary said miserably, still not giving an answer.  “You’d always choose him.”  Without another word, she Apparated before Remus could so much as raise his wand. 

Remus stood in shock, staring at the spot where Mary had been standing a second ago.  Then, he broke out of his trance and moved to the door to do up all the locks again, his fingers trembling. 

“What are you doing, go after her! She’s on her way to report us right now!” Sirius hissed, but Remus shook his head and turned around. 

“She won’t tell.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Remus paused, fighting the wholly inappropriate and equally inexplicable urge to smile.  “Didn’t you hear her before?  She lent me money so I could see you.  She’s afraid she’d be arrested too.”

“Are you positive, Moony?”

“Yes.  I know Mary.”

“What did she mean, ‘you’d always choose him’?”

Remus shrugged, but his lungs seemed to constrict and he almost felt like he’d done something wrong, something he wasn’t even aware of.  “That I don’t know.”  

Sirius blinked, looking as confused as Remus now felt.  The two men stood in silence for a moment until their heartbeats had slowed, and then eventually Sirius turned to face Remus with a sly smile.  

“What?” Remus asked dubiously, not sure he wanted to know.  It was never a good sign when Sirius got that mischievous look.

“You really used to take one-nighters home?  That was usually my move,” He said, sounding amused and mildly impressed. 

Remus rolled his eyes and smiled at the floor, his shoulders relaxing.  “You caught that, did you?” 

“No judgment here.  Unless of course you’ve slept with any more vampires,” Sirius said, miming fangs with his fingers and hiding his laughter poorly.

Remus smiled slightly.  “Shut it, Padfoot.”

* * *

**I'm anxious to hear where you guys think this is going, so please leave a comment! :)**

**-C**

 


	10. Anthem for a Dying Breed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!! I've finally gotten past my busy end of summer things I had to do, so here's Chapter 10 and I really hope you like it! It's the longest yet :)

**_Diagon Alley, London._ **

**_June 26, 1988._ **

Remus awoke with a sharp pain in his lower spine and gasped as it shot right up his back when he swung his legs over the side of the bed.  He paused until it subsided, then slowly got to his feet, wincing again as he stretched out his limbs.  Though he already knew the reason behind this pain, he glanced at the wall calendar anyway and grimaced; the three dates he’d drawn huge red X’s over as soon as he bought the calendar were only days away, and he could tell that this transformation was shaping up to be just as painful as the last few.

He still hadn’t figured out what caused the drastic spike in pain when he transformed.  After visiting Dumbledore, he’d bitten the proverbial bullet and gone to St. Mungo’s in search of a “general tonic” with the hope that it might minimize his discomfort, but the potion they gave him turned out to be for minor maladies only— _St. Genevieve’s Instant Pick-Me-Up, soothes anything from stubbed toes to sunburn!_ Still, he dug the bottle out from his bedside table and gingerly made his way to the kitchen. 

“Morning,” Sirius said dully over his shoulder as he fixed a bowl of cereal.  For once he’d woken up before Remus, though the comforter and pillow that lay messily on the couch suggested he hadn’t been awake long.   No matter how many times Remus offered to share his bed or at the very least conjure one for Sirius, the latter refused, and Remus suspected it might be because after so long sleeping on the thinnest of mattresses in his stone cell, Sirius actually had to ease himself back into comfort. 

Remus poured himself a mug of the coffee Sirius had managed to make by hand, and frowned when he added the potion and it turned his drink a very stomach-churning shade of green.  With a grimace, he started gulping down the potion and didn’t even stop when the hot liquid scalded his tongue.  He felt fatigued, and it was more than just the usual grogginess and hunger that follows a long night’s sleep. 

“It’s early,” he said as he finished the drink, gagging a little at the acrid taste.

Sirius shrugged and looked Remus up and down.  “You look horrible.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Alright, that’s fair.” 

“Anything in the papers?” Remus asked nervously.  Ever since Mary had so abruptly left the apartment a few days earlier, both men had been rather tense despite Remus’s certainty that Mary wouldn’t report them.  Sirius had been on tenterhooks, fearing that at any second they could be ambushed by Aurors and dragged off to Azkaban, which, Remus thought suddenly, might explain why Sirius got up so early and went to bed so late.  He wanted to minimize his time spent asleep and defenseless, even though every night Remus made sure to cast a Disillusionment Charm on him just in case.

Sirius shook his head.  “Nothing concerning, unless you care about the cauldron trade.” 

“Good,” Remus groaned as he slowly sat at the table.  He’d been feeling ill for the last week or so, but it all seemed to really catch up with him at once.  “Then she hasn’t said anything.” 

Sirius narrowed his eyes at Remus’s discomfort and Remus held his gaze without saying a word.  He was certain Sirius picked up on the coming full moon; he had always been hyperaware of it while at school.  It was never any secret that horrible though they were, Sirius looked forward to each of Remus’s transformations because they guaranteed three straight nights of reckless endangerment, a phrase that might as well have been Sirius’s middle name.  Remus could have sworn he saw that old mischievous flame flicker in his friend’s eyes as they stared at one another. 

“I’m working today,” Remus said suddenly, and the little spark of hope in Sirius’s eyes vanished quicker than a candle that’s been snuffed out.  “So you’re on your own again.”  Though he felt weak already, Remus decided he would muscle through the day and then ask Florean for his usual end-of-the-month week off to “visit his grandmother’s farm.”  He was sure his boss must have figured out the real reason behind Remus’s absences by now, but Florean was a man of discretion if nothing else, a trait Remus was wholly grateful for.

Sirius hadn’t said a word; in fact, he hardly seemed to have breathed, and he sat staring at the swirls of cream dancing in his coffee.  “How long?” he asked. 

“It’s a double shift.”

Sirius practically snarled and rolled his eyes, huffing in frustration.  Remus paused and wiped his mouth with his napkin, then sat forward with a pointed look.

“I’m sorry, is something wrong?” he asked testily.  “Do you have a problem with me doing my job?”

“I have a _problem_ being holed up in here!”  Sirius was breathing heavily and his face felt hot; he was starting to feel ornerier than ever, and each second that passed sans progress was beginning to feel like a second wasted.  

Remus raised an eyebrow; usually he was the one who started to snap around this time of the month.  “I can’t just quit my job to spend time with you,” he said slowly as if explaining himself to someone much younger.  “I have a debt to repay, I owe Mary over—”

“You’re worried about that _sneak_?”

“Don’t talk about her that way!” Remus snapped immediately.  He was, indeed, worried about Mary.  Regardless of the circumstances, he cared deeply about her, hated that he’d disappointed her yet again, and after all they’d been through together he owed it to her to at least stay true to his promise.

“Never mind her, you’ve also got your best mate’s name to clear!”  Sirius butted in loudly, his voice sounding strained.  “We haven’t made the slightest bit of progress, all we’ve done is tell someone who _works_ for the Ministry that I’m here and now we’re sat crossing our fingers and just _hoping_ she doesn’t fuck us both over!”  His voice broke.  “Great plan, Moony, really stellar.  You were so keen to help me before, but we’re no closer to clearing my name than we are to finding Harry, which, in case you’d forgotten, are the two things you promised you’d help me do!” 

Remus felt like he’d been Stunned by Sirius’s outburst.  Sirius let his head fall and he fisted his hands in his hair, but the action didn’t hide the trembling of his fingers. 

“I haven’t forgotten.  But I can’t just drop everything, it would look too suspicious!”

“I’ve got news for you, Moony,” Sirius said quietly, shaking his head.  “Helping me is going to look suspicious any way you spin it.  I know you want to be careful and I’ve always admired you for that, but I cannot sit and do nothing much longer.  I’m proving I’m innocent with or without you, but I’d like your company.” 

Remus started; he recalled saying something very similar to Dumbledore not too long ago.  He paused for a long moment, then pushed his chair back from the table and the muscle in Sirius’s jaw twitched at the scraping sound it made on the linoleum floor.  

“I have to get to work.  As soon as I get back,” Remus continued quickly, as Sirius had looked ready to shout, “we’ll come up with a plan.  I have the next few days off anyway, we’ll come up with something, alright?” 

Sirius nodded curtly and Remus shot him a pitying glance after putting his mug in the sink.  “I want to see you walking free too, mate,” he said truthfully, and though Sirius didn’t react to it, Remus let his hand rest on his shoulder for a moment before Apparating with a sharp _crack_.

* * *

 

It was absolutely maddening spending day after day sitting alone in Remus’s flat.  Sirius tried to pass time reading Remus’s books, but grew bored too quickly, and he tried sleeping, but felt too paranoid.  Most days he just curled up on the couch as Padfoot, staring and huffing half-heatedly at birds flying by outside the window, wishing Remus had invested in a Muggle television. 

So it was with a heavy heart he heard Remus Disapparate to work, for it meant even more hours spent in unpleasant solitude until Remus came back, sometimes with extra ice cream if it had been a slow day.  He rolled his shoulders after Remus had gone and shook his head like he was trying to clear it.  Sirius figured he could spend the day one of two ways—he could mope on the couch, or he could use the time to start working on a plan. 

“Fucking _think_ ,” he muttered to himself as he paced around the living room, a half-eaten apple in one hand and the day’s Prophet in the other.  What he really needed before they could do anything was a wand; then he could Apparate alone, conjure up any needed items, and most importantly help Remus whenever they might need to defend themselves.

Then, as most plans that are either complete failures or grand successes do, an idea crept into Sirius’s head and gave him his first glimmer of hope in weeks.  It was absolutely mad, but it was all he had to go on.

* * *

Night had fallen by the time Remus got back to his flat after what was a mercifully slow and easy day at work.  Florean had replaced the empty buckets of ice cream with new ones before opening, so there was no need to haul heavy jugs at all, and Remus only had to clean up spilled sprinkles once after an overexcited young girl pointed at them with such enthusiasm that the jar exploded.   Still, despite the relatively uneventful shift, Remus felt like he might just collapse like a house of cards in the wind if he stayed on his feet much longer.  He pulled off his work shirt—a pink and blue abomination with two gold F’s embroidered on the breast—as soon as he got home and tossed it onto a chair to be dealt with later.  He was about to head to his room to change when he caught sight of the huge black dog snoring on his sofa.

“Oi, Padfoot,” he said somewhere between a whisper and his normal speaking volume.  Sirius didn’t wake, so Remus went over to sit beside him and ruffled his fur.  Sirius awoke with a start and even in his dog form, Remus could see the look of annoyed relief on his face as he realized there was no danger, only Remus.  “Still mad at me, huh,” Remus half-laughed as he scratched Sirius behind the ears the way he knew Sirius hated. 

“Watch it!” 

“And he’s back,” Remus said, as Sirius had transformed almost instantly and now sat disgruntled on the couch, trying to smooth his hair down where Remus had mussed it up.

“Can’t a man sleep in peace?  Or wear a shirt?” Sirius added, noting Remus’s bare chest. 

Remus smirked and leaned back against the couch cushions.  “You don’t really mind, though, do you?”  After a telling silence, he spoke again.  “Should I bother asking how your day was?” 

Sirius perked up and sat forward.  “Yeah, actually.  I’ve been thinking.”  

“I thought I heard gears turning somewhere in here, is that what that smell was?”

“Wow, good one!  Did you spend your whole shift coming up with it?” Sirius retorted.  “Never mind.  I have a plan.” 

Those four words had cost all of the Marauders countless detentions over their years at Hogwarts, but now Remus looked interested and Sirius took that as an invitation to keep talking, though he would have done so anyway.  “I figured before we actually do anything we need to work out the whole sequence of events, right?  I think first, before anything, I need a wand.”

Remus nodded; that was reasonable.  “I can take care of that,” he said.  “There’s an old bloke who pawns lost wands on the corner near Fortescue’s.  They’re usually a galleon or two apiece, you know, being secondhand and all.  But the wands are so upset with their owners for losing them that they’ll be loyal to pretty much whoever uses them next.” 

“Perfect.” Sirius then launched into a full explanation of his plan: They would go together to the Ministry under the guise of pretending Sirius was a stray dog Remus was suspicious might be part Chimaera, then they would find the Magical Law Enforcement Office.   There, Sirius could transform, and put any personnel in a Full-Body Bind until he’d explained everything, including the picture Remus had.  “…And then it’s straight to the Prophet to make sure they get the story,” Sirius finished. 

Remus was alarmed.  It was as equally implausible as it would be accomplishable, but Sirius defiantly reminded Remus that they’d pulled off far more idiotic schemes during their time at Hogwarts when they knew half the magic they did now.

“Obviously there are a few kinks to work out before we give it a go, but unless you’ve got a better idea,” Sirius concluded with a kind of hopeful air.

“Give it a go?” Remus said weakly, his hands limp in his lap.  “A _few_ kinks?  Sirius, you’re barking!” 

“Come on, we won’t be any more prepared another month from now, Moony, we might as well just say fuck-all and do it!”

“Famous last words,” Remus muttered, and Sirius took a deep breath.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said darkly.  “But it’s just mad enough to work if we play our cards right.” 

Remus held Sirius’s gaze for a long time, brown clashing with gray just as they had in his cell, which felt like a lifetime ago.  Sirius did have a point; they had nothing else to go one, no shred of a plan that Remus could even begin to use to refute the dangerous one Sirius had cooked up, and something like proving Sirius’s innocence while he was one of the most feared wizards in Britain would be risky even with years of preparation.

“Sirius,” Remus began, “It’s a terrible plan.”

Sirius’s face fell, but only for a moment.  He could practically hear the battle going on in Remus’s head as he thought over all the possible ways they could fuck up, but if Sirius knew Remus, and he did very well, the latter was no doubt also coming up with some clever way to get them out of each tight situation that could potentially occur. 

“But…” Sirius prompted eagerly. 

“But I suppose it’s all we’ve got,” Remus admitted.  “ _But_ ,” he said again, “we have to wait at least another week.”

Sirius almost asked why, but then he remembered how sick Remus had been looking lately, and how weak and tired he looked even now.  “Full moon?”  Sirius whispered, trying to mask the excitement that was fluttering in his stomach with a concerned tone. 

“It starts the twenty-eighth.  I’ve already called out of work, so Florean won’t come around looking.”

“I’m going with you,” Sirius said as he straightened up and leaned towards Remus on the couch.  His voice was anything but playful. “And don’t try to tell me it’s not safe.   When has any part of your transformation _ever_ been safe?  Besides, it’s more dangerous to leave me alone here than if I went with--”

“I want you to.”

“And if you think for one second that I—what?" 

Remus smiled tiredly in the dim light.  “I want you there.  I go to the same place every month now; it’s completely remote and I know it like the back of my hand.  It’s up in the highlands, there are a few towns surrounding it but they’re all miles away.  Besides, I can set up enchantments like always.”

Sirius blinked, still in shock that Remus was actually on board.  “Well…I guess that’s settled then,” he said finally.  “When do we leave?”

“I usually go a full day before, but to be safe we shouldn’t Apparate there until just a few hours before sundown.  You shouldn’t spend any more time out of this flat than you need to, especially if we’re to go through with this…Merlin, it’s _barely_ a plan, but this plan you’ve got.  I can’t be seen constantly leading a dog around.”

Sirius nodded vigorously and he was almost shaking with excitement, like the human version of a dog wagging its tail.  He wanted to jump for joy at the thought of finally being able to stretch his legs and in an effort to concretize his gratitude, Sirius lurched forward and pulled Remus into a hug that was made slightly awkward by the fact they were both sitting.

“It’ll be like old times, yeah?” he said breathlessly in Remus’s ear, and Remus nodded as much as he could with his head squished between Sirius’s shoulder and plush cushioning.  Somehow, though, he felt anything but discomfort.

* * *

 

**Scottish Highlands**

**June 28, 1988.**  

“How have they been, anyway?  The transformations?” 

The afternoon sun was heaving its last sigh before breathing out dusk, and Remus and Sirius sat atop the same hill Remus always pitched his tent on.  As he looked out over the hills and squinted at the horizon, Remus could almost make out the soft glow of the distant Muggle village as their lights came on for the night.

“Bad,” he answered Sirius’s question simply.  “Worse than usual.”

“Why?” 

“I think it’s because of you, actually,” Remus said, admitting it both to himself and the man next to him.  

“ _Me?_ ”

“It started after I went to visit you.  I don’t know if it was from just being in Azkaban or if it was the stress of everything you told me, but the first one after I came back was…well, it beat any I’ve had in the past.”  He told Sirius about the pain that nearly cracked his skull in two, and how it had been so unbearable he’d actually fallen unconscious for the whole night.

Sirius looked contemplative and shifted a little, clasping his arms loosely around his knees as they waited for the moon to appear.  “Well, was it worth it?  I mean, the pain sounds awful, but you didn’t have to run around all night.”

“Yeah, but I woke up still feeling like I had.”

“Is that going to happen tonight?”  Sirius asked.  He hoped the answer would be no; as selfish as it might sound, he wanted Remus to transform normally, so he would have a chance to really run freely. 

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” 

Sirius didn’t say anything, and silence stewed between them.  He’d long since finished taking in the scenery and was far more anxious to run around in it than he was to spend even one more moment sitting around and waiting for action.  But, they still had at least an hour before the moon would emerge, so he might as well fill the silence. 

“It feels odd, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm?” Remus hummed in response as he picked at the grass next to him. 

“Being here without them,” Sirius said, and Remus was so caught off-guard that he uprooted a whole dandelion.  It was the first time since they met after Sirius escaped that either of them had really brought up James or Peter. 

“It’s different,” Remus said quietly, and he hated, _hated_ the lump that starting forming in the back of his throat. 

“How do you think he ended up like that?  Peter, I mean.”  Sirius wasn’t sure where his sudden verbosity was coming from, but like most important topics, the supposed opportune time to talk about Peter’s betrayal differed greatly from when it actually came up.  Still, to Sirius at least, the unexpected conversation felt oddly appropriate there on the hill.

Remus shrugged noncommittally and squinted despite the waning sunlight that left no sear on the eyes anymore.  “He always was a rat, I guess." 

“Was he though, always?”

“Sirius, no offense to James and Lily’s memory or anything, but I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“I need to talk about it,” Sirius said through gritted teeth, and all of a sudden Remus understood.  Sirius had had no one but his own mind to converse with for years upon painful years.  No one to voice his questions or vent anger to except concrete walls and dementors.

Remus swallowed thickly and sat back on his hands, his legs outstretched in front of him.  “I don’t know why he went bad, Padfoot.  I was hardly ever around then anyway, with all the Order business.”   _And you all stopped talking to me,_ Remus added somewhat bitterly in his head.  Sirius seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“I’m sorry,” he said emphatically.  “Look at me.”  He leaned in so close that Remus had no choice but to angle his head to look at Sirius, whose eyes were swimming with remorse as he gripped Remus’s shoulder like that would make his words easier to say.  He drew a shaky breath.  “I’m so sorry we cut you off.  I thought I was right, that you were spying.”

“You seemed to think you were right about a lot of things,” Remus said before he could stop himself.  If Sirius wanted to talk about this now, so be it.   “I needed you.”

“I know,” Sirius whispered.  He flicked his gaze up to look Remus in the eye and immediately looked away, recoiling as his cheeks burned uncharacteristically.  “They needed me more.” 

The words stung, but not without their merit.

It was true, Sirius thought.  He hadn’t wanted to risk three lives for the sake of preserving Remus’s feelings.  Trust could be rebuilt later, he’d kept telling himself when he came to doubt Remus’s loyalty, but lives could not.  So he had gone with his gut and pushed Remus away while simultaneously pulling James, Lily, and Harry closer.  He always thought he knew what was best for them…and yet he’d almost never actually been correct.  He’d done far more harm than good because he was too proud to think that maybe, just maybe, someone else might know better.  Someone like Dumbledore, or Remus himself.  If only he’d trusted someone else’s instinct for once in his damned life, maybe he wouldn’t have all but put the nails in his best friends’ coffins. 

“Why did you do it?” Remus finally asked in a pained voice.  “Why’d you switch Secret Keepers?  You never would have told.”

Sirius dropped his gaze from Remus’s pleading eyes to the ground he sat on.  “You’re wondering whether I realized I would probably die for them and wanted to give that job to someone else to do.  It’s okay,” Sirius said flatly, as Remus’s face had twisted into a guilty grimace.  That was exactly what he had been wondering. 

“No,” said Sirius.  “I’d have died for them, taken the Cruciatus Curse for days, anything instead of opening my mouth.   I truly thought Wormtail was a safer bet.  He was always just in the background, hell, the only thing people noticed about Peter was how scared he always got, so I thought no one would ever expect James to trust him over me.”  The end of his sentence was lost to an almost inaudible whisper; Sirius found himself suddenly so full of grief and guilt that he couldn’t go on.

“And I know how selfish that sounds,” he continued after a moment.  “Make Peter do the dirty work, while I sit all cozy with my friends in Godric’s Hollow, but I wasn’t doing it for me.  James is my brother, Lily’s a gem and Harry was like a son to me; I only ever wanted to keep them safe and that seemed like the best way.”

“But you didn’t even tell Dumbledore you’d switched,” Remus said desperately.

“What could he have done even if he’d known, though?  You said so yourself, he knows I’m innocent for years and hasn’t done jack shit about it.  Shows how much influence he’s got in the Ministry,” Sirius scoffed. 

Something Sirius said kept ringing in Remus’s mind.  _The only thing people noticed about Peter was how scared he always got._ In hindsight, that should have been a red flag—Peter was always the frightened one, and the one who was most content to follow, never to lead.  He could hardly stand up for himself, but always loved feeling protected.  Remus’s stomach was churning—all Voldemort probably had to do was issue a couple of threats thinly disguised as false promises of safety to convince Peter to switch sides.  

“I wonder when he did it,” Remus whispered, and he felt Sirius tense up where their arms were touching.  Had they seen Peter between the time he became a Death Eater and when he betrayed James and Lily?  Did he already know, when that picture was taken in Godric’s Hollow, that his friends laughing in the background as he chased their son around would so soon be dead? 

Sirius shook his head as the sun started to dip behind the mountains.  “That’s the worst part—I don’t know.”

* * *

 

 

**_Flashback._ **

**_August 1978, the Evans family home._ **

They were four friends.  Four kids fresh from the classrooms of Hogwarts with an arsenal of knowledge they couldn’t wait to put to the test.  No spell was too difficult and no curse too quick that they couldn’t dodge it at the last second and laugh about it later.  They joked about close calls and shaved the beards they pretended they could grow and played pranks on anything that moved because dammit, the world could use a laugh right about now.

………………………………. 

“Let me help you, dearest!” Sirius said dramatically, putting down his goblet of butterbeer and hopping up to help James do up his tie.  “Someone get me a tissue,” he said, feigning tears as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, “My son is getting married!” 

James laughed and took a playful swing at his best man.  

“Don’t fuck this up, Prongs,” said Remus. 

“Such sage advice, Moony!  Thanks for the contribution.”  James was practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation of the ceremony that was due to start in just a few moments.  He and Lily always wanted it to be an extravagant affair, that is, if the three weeks they were engaged was long enough to count as “always,” but due to the current state of the Wizarding world (war was not a question of if, but when) they’d opted for a smaller, more private gathering.  

So, despite some small arguments concerning the planning of the ceremony (“You are _not_ officiating, Sirius.”), there the Marauders were, gathered in the Evans family’s living room while the small crowd of guests took their seats in the garden out back.  Lily was somewhere upstairs, no doubt surrounded by her small army of bridesmaids helping her get ready.  If James were being honest, though, he was so eager to slip that ring on Lily’s finger that he would say “I do” even if she walked down the short aisle wearing Professor McGonagall’s dress robes.

“What _is_ this?” asked Peter incredulously, holding a can opener up to the light to get a better look at the strange Muggle object.

“I don’t know, but I’m about to knock you over the head with it if you don’t stop poking around my girlfriend’s house!” James said with a chuckle, snatching the contraption from Peter’s hands and putting it back in the kitchen drawer.

“You mean your wife, in about…ten minutes,” Remus said, looking at the clock on the wall.  James’s stomach lurched in excitement—that was the first time any of them had used the ‘W-word.’  Lily—Lily _Evans_ —would be his _wife_.  James decided right then and there that _wife_ was the most beautiful word in the English language, and boy did he have just the woman to prove it.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Peter laughed.  “You’re sure she’s not under the Imperius Curse, James?”

“Don’t tease the man, he’s trying to enjoy his last moments of freedom!” Sirius joked.  “How’re you feeling, mate?  Has the lock on your ball and chain clicked shut yet?”

James took a deep breath and beamed at his friends, absentmindedly polishing his glasses on his suit cuff as he’d been doing all day to quell his nerves.  “Never felt better.”  He looked out the window and he could just make out his parents sitting in the front row, two empty seats next to them for Lily’s mum and dad when they were ready.  Euphemia would have none of the “Muggle nonsense—no offense to your mother, of course, Lily dear” about having the groom’s family on one side of the aisle and the bride’s on the other.  No, everyone sat where they pleased—after all, they’d all be family soon enough.

“Earth to Prongs,” Sirius said, waving his wand in front of James’s face.  The groom seemed to come out of a nervous trance.  “You look like you’ve seen the Grim or something!  Don’t tell me that after years of calling her Evans, you’re having second thoughts about making her a Potter.”

“Of course not!  Can’t let all those years of playful harassment go to waste, can we?” 

“There he is,” said Sirius comfortingly.  He clapped a hand on James’s back just as Fleamont motioned from outside that it was time for the boys to take their places near the impromptu altar.

The service was short and sweet, but the reception was one for the books.  James’s parents charmed up a never-ending champagne fountain as well as a giant periwinkle blue tent that hovered in the backyard.  A thousand real fairy lights glimmered under the canopy to provide the perfect mood lighting for the summer night.  Everyone sat at small round tables scattered around the lawn when Sirius stood up and tapped his knife against his wine goblet to get everyone’s attention.  He pointed his wand at his throat and his voice was magically amplified so everyone could hear.

“I’ve got something to say!” He announced, a little unsteady from the champagne already.  James was sitting with his arm slung across Lily’s chair, his body angled towards Sirius and a slightly scared smile on his face as he waited anxiously to hear what kind of embarrassing things Sirius had put in his best man speech.  The guests fell silent as Sirius cleared his throat. 

“Hello!  Friends, family, family friends.  Really, thanks for coming out tonight, you lot, I know we’ve all got busy schedules what with Dark wizard arses to kick and all,” he began, and murmurs of assent and a couple cheers of “hear, hear!” echoed from the back. 

“Tonight’s story started not too long ago, actually.”  His voice had the air of a seasoned storyteller.  “I was just a boy, a sprightly young chap of eleven, and scared out of my mind of having to sit alone on the Hogwarts Express when this one—” he gestured to James, who raised his goblet in recognition, “—came running into my compartment.  Now, any normal kid might say ‘Hi, I’m James!’” Sirius mocked in a high pitched, pre-pubescent sounding voice.  “But James here, as I’m sure you’re all well aware, is the furthest thing from normal and he said, ‘Oi.  I’ve just met the perfect girl.  I’m going to marry her.’” The crowd laughed and ‘ _aww_ ’d’ in response. 

“Oh, Merlin, no, don’t _aww_ to that!” Sirius joked.  More laughter.  “Don’t _aww_ the weird bloke who decided within the span of ten minutes who his wife _and_ his best mate were going to be!  God, you numpties.  Anyway, James’s mind was made up.  He was going to marry this girl!  This girl named Lily.”  Sirius paused for dramatic effect, looking off into the distance wistfully, then continued.  

“Bollocks, we all thought.  There was no way a girl like Lily Evans would be thick enough to say yes to a date with this tosser.  And for a long time, she wouldn’t.   No amount of grandstanding during Quidditch matches, hair-mussing, invitations to Hogsmeade or hexes that I _think_ were supposed to be charming could woo her.  None of us had seen a rivalry like theirs before, though it was rather one-sided most of the time—our whole year even started placing bets on who’d curse who to bits first.  My money was on you, Lily, for the record.  While other doomed-to-be-couples had pet names for each other, I distinctly remember Lily calling James a…what was it again?  An—” 

“Arrogant, bullying toerag,” finished James, Lily, and Sirius in unison, as the elder Mr. and Mrs. Potter shook their heads in wonder. 

“And look where we are now,” said Sirius with a flourish and a warm smile.  He turned to James. 

“James.  Prongs.  Prongsie,” he said affectionately with a cheeky smirk.  “I can honestly say, with complete sincerity, that not one person here tonight _ever_ thought this was actually going to happen.  Least of all the beautiful gal sitting next to you.  Look at her, she’s still in shock!”  The crowd, Lily and James included, erupted in laughter as Sirius took a swig from his goblet then gestured to Lily, looking impressed.  “And I have to say to you, Lils, I give you a lot of credit taking this one on.  I don’t know how he convinced you he was the best you were gonna get—because between you and me, love, you could do much better,” he said with a wink, “But, plucky git or not, I do love James, and you are the only witch I would ever deem worthy of becoming Mrs. Potter.”

He took a deep breath and shook his head, smiling to himself, before continuing.  “James, I’ve got to be serious for a second.”

“You’re always Sirius!” Came Remus and Peter’s immediate shout from the back, and Sirius closed his eyes with a suppressed laugh for a moment. 

“Thanks, lads.  We rehearsed that,” he told the amused crowd.  “But, really.  James, you were right.  That day on the train…you called it, mate.  Not just about Lily, but me as well.  I’m proud to call you not just my friend, but my brother, and I am honored to have shared the last seven years, two months, five days and approximately fourteen hours with you.  Not that anyone’s counting,” Sirius said with a smile, but his voice was starting to shake and he almost looked like he might cry. 

“James, and Fleamont and Euphemia, of course,” he said, nodding to James’s parents who sat smiling tearfully at a table nearby, “You are my family.  And Lily, as the latest to be pulled into the Potter clan with the open arms they—” he paused and looked up at the sky with a soft laugh, taking a second to stop the tears from coming, “— _always_ seem to have…well, I know you know it already but I could not be happier to be here today, watching you marry my best friend.”

… 

“Excellent speech, mate,” Remus said afterwards as he clapped a hand on Sirius’s back.  Sirius smiled tipsily, threw his arm around Remus shoulders and planted a sloppy, enthusiastic kiss right on Remus’s mouth, much to the latter’s amusement.  The tables had vanished once all the speeches were over, an iridescent dance floor had bubbled up like a potion and spread itself out, and now couples danced about without a care in the world.  

James and Lily were at the center of it all, lost in their own world as some Muggle song that Lily loved floated through the air from undetectable speakers. 

“Where’s Pete?”  Sirius suddenly asked, tearing his eyes off the newlyweds to search for the last of their foursome.  “Drowning in the punch bowl, I bet.”

Remus laughed and shook his head as he leaned subconsciously into Sirius’s sideways embrace.  “You should give him a little more credit, you know.  He did help pick the food.”

“That’s always been his forte,” Sirius laughed, swatting a floating bauble away as it bobbed lazily past his head.  It zoomed away with an excited _wheeeeeee!_

On cue, Peter appeared on Sirius’s right with a small plate full of leftover hors d’oeuvres.  His face was flushed from excitement and firewhisky and he was watching James and Lily dancing with a kind of melancholy expression that Remus interpreted as jealousy.  After all, Peter had always been the one of their lot who had been single the longest.   James and Lily had been together for over a year, and Sirius and Remus had…whatever it was they had now.  It balanced like a see-saw between being platonic and becoming something more, but never really landed on one side or the other.

“Wormy!”  Sirius said enthusiastically, nudging the shorter boy.  Peter flinched away as Sirius bumped his left arm as if something had burned him, but Remus had only a second to think of how peculiar that was before they were interrupted.

“Enjoying the view?”  James chided as he and Lily came rushing giddily off the dance floor to greet their friends. 

Remus smiled and spoke for himself as well as Peter and a very watery-eyed Sirius when he asked, “who _couldn’t_ be happy when you two so clearly are?” 

At his side, Peter’s smile faltered a bit but he covered it up quickly with a cough. 

“Make sure you save me a dance, eh, Lily?”  he asked with a somewhat forced smile.  Lily beamed and reached over to straighten Peter’s tie. 

“Of course.  I want to dance with each of you before the night’s up, no excuses!”

Sirius was about to offer up his arm to lead Lily back to the center of the dance floor, but just then Mr. Evans swooped in for a father-daughter dance and none of the boys wanted to tread on that moment.  James watched the pair of them go with a soft smile that grew wider as he glanced at the other three Marauders, then jerked his head towards Lily.

“I’m married to her,” he said, catching his bottom lip in his teeth like he hardly dared believe the wedding was actually real.  His smile grew so much it seemed to light up everything in a five-foot radius.

“You were right about a short engagement, Prongs,” Remus said.  “I think we all needed this.”  With the Wizarding world so set on splitting itself into pieces, their wedding seemed to fix all of that, at least for the night.  It was as if the canopy provided them all with shelter from the slew of violence and attacks going on beyond it. 

James shrugged and held up his hand to stop a floating tray of champagne so that the four of them could each take a glass.  “It’s like Lily says.  If you could die tomorrow, you’ve got to live today, right?” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Remus said wholeheartedly, and he raised his glass and took a sip.  James and Sirius followed suit and drained theirs, but Peter only moved his arm an inch, and didn’t drink at all.

……………………………….

They were four friends.  Four kids at war, with not enough experience to properly fight it but Merlin, did they have the courage and the heart, which almost made enough of a difference.  But they soon learned, as smiles fell from their peach-fuzzy cheeks, that not even they were invincible. 

* * *

 

**_Scottish Highlands_ **

**_June 28, 1988._ **

“I wish we could go back in time,” Sirius said softly, not even caring how childish that sounded.  He was still sitting on the hill, looking both sad and wistful while Remus nodded at his side.  “It’s just not the same.”

“Never said it was, mate,” Remus replied. “Don’t get me wrong, though, I’m really glad to have you here.” 

“And I’m happy to be with you, it just almost feels wrong now that it’s just us.”  A lump was rising in Sirius’s throat.  He’d thought about James a lot in Azkaban, of course, but it was just now sinking in that he would never again see that look of dismay James got when he accidentally sat on his glasses again, never again would he be able to lift James up on his shoulders after a Quidditch match, and never again would he run with his best mate as Padfoot and Prongs.  This solemn revelation was too much to bear and Sirius pressed his hands to his face in an effort to try and hide his emotion.  However, the way his body shook was a dead giveaway and Remus inched closer to wrap his arms tentatively around Sirius.  “It’s just us,” Sirius kept repeating weakly.  “Just us.”  How was he ever supposed to go on without James? 

“I know,” said Remus.  “But Padfoot, you can either think of it as ‘it’s just us,’ or you can think of it as ‘we’ve still got each other.’” 

After a moment in which Sirius tried to collect himself, he nodded and sniffed a little as he absorbed Remus’s words.  He felt a rush of affection for Remus, and allowed himself to be held in his arms a while longer.

“Come on,” Remus finally groaned as he got to his feet.  “It’s almost time; we’d better get away from the tent.”

He held out his hand to Sirius, who took it and pulled himself up and hugged Remus in the almost-moonlight.  The embrace said more than a full day’s worth of conversation could.  Remus was feeling…not _well_ , but nothing like he’d felt the previous month, and certainly nowhere near as beleaguered as the one before that.  Maybe it all had to do with nothing more than circumstance—he now had one of his best friends back, who so many years ago had undergone the Animagus process solely so nights like this wouldn’t be as difficult.  Remus was almost looking forward to running with Sirius for this transformation.

Sirius then began unbuttoning his shirt and Remus paused to watch him.  

“Er—do you not do this anymore?”  Sirius said unsurely as his fingers stopped moving. 

“No, I just—yes, it’s fine,” said Remus decisively as he, too, started getting undressed.  Back at school, all four of them always left their clothes in the tunnel under the Whomping Willow so they wouldn’t ruin them when they roughed each other up.  At the time it was trivial, not to mention logical, but it seemed a very childish thing to do now that they were both grown men with grown men’s bodies.  But Remus had grown so used to transforming alone that he was touched that Sirius still remembered the whole process.  

“Nothing we haven’t seen before, right?”  Sirius said in a more encouraging tone. 

“Right,” said Remus with equal conviction.

They finished undressing just as the full moon peeked out from behind the wispy clouds in the night sky.  Remus could feel his bones and joints creaking, and every little movement brought horrible popping noises along with it, but as the edges of his vision blurred, he caught Sirius out of the corner of his eye just as he transformed.  A moment later, he could hear Sirius’s voice inside his head, telling him the same things he used to at school.  _You’re still Remus Lupin.  I’m Sirius Black.  You’re okay, this is only for a few hours._

And with an involuntary howl at the moon that was accompanied for the first time in years by excited barking, Padfoot and Moony set off together into the night.

* * *

**Hope you liked this chapter!! if you did (or didn't) please leave a comment and let me know why! Thanks as always for your support :)**

**-C**

 


	11. Old Dog, New Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OH MY GOD. I'M REALLY SORRY. I hope this is worth the wait; I got really caught up with classes this semester so I only got a chance to write more and update now that I'm on break! Leave me some kudos or a comment if you like this, and I promise the wait for the next chapter won't be as long :)

**Number 4, Privet Drive.**

**July 1, 1988.**

Harry Potter sighed to drown out the sound of his stomach rumbling as he watched his cousin Dudley fork another piece of birthday cake into his mouth.  From his perch in the tree in the backyard, Harry could clearly see into the sunroom of his aunt and uncle’s house where there was a large sitting table surrounded by five chairs. 

Dudley’s actual birthday had been over a week earlier, but now that Harry’s Uncle Vernon’s sister Marge was in town, of course Dudley needed another celebration.  Meanwhile, Harry twisted his back earnestly, thinking about his own impending birthday, which would surely go unnoticed, and trying to situate himself more comfortably amongst the branches as night fell. 

Uncle Vernon, as round as the table at which he was sitting, laughed jovially as he pulled out a chair for his equally loud sister.  Aunt Marge was the reason for Harry’s debacle; he was stuck in the tree because he’d accidentally stepped on her dog’s paw during dinner, and she refused to call Ripper off so Harry could come inside.  Now, Ripper was posted at the tree trunk like a security guard who took his job too seriously, and he growled periodically and glared up at Harry with all the contempt that a bulldog could possibly possess in his wrinkly little body.  

Harry wondered, as he picked away bits of tree bark and dropped them, using Ripper as a target, if his aunt and uncle would remember his birthday at all.  It wasn’t until the end of the month, but it was always around this time that Harry started to have to fight back the flicker of excitement that came with his upcoming birthday, since he knew it’d never be fanned into a flame.  Last year all he got for his birthday was a list of chores, though that in itself was a sort of gift because he spent all day too busy for Dudley to have time to hit him with a shoe, and Aunt Petunia had actually scolded her son when he tried to shut Harry in his cupboard, lest it inhibit the latter’s ability to prune the hedges in a timely fashion.  

“Come down, boy!” Aunt Marge bellowed from inside, her unmistakable voice full of mirth and malice.  Harry rolled his eyes and then closed them, feeling a lump rise in his throat. 

He could take Marge’s abuse, he could even withstand Dudley’s constant bullying, but he couldn’t shake the burning question of what he did to deserve it all.  He knew he was different, even odd (after all, how many seven-year-olds could grow their hair back in one day, or refill a glass of water without going to the sink?), but he couldn’t help but wonder whether a little kindness tossed in his direction might benefit them all.

“You heard your aunt, down with you!” Uncle Vernon roared, poking his head out of the window and brandishing one beefy arm in the general direction of the tree.  

“I’m trying,” Harry murmured through gritted teeth.  He had attempted to get down at least four times in the last hour, but each time he got within reach of Ripper’s snapping teeth, he’d had to scramble back up through the branches and brambles to avoid losing a toe to the little beast.  Sure enough, even as Harry lowered himself to the next branch down, Ripper started barking menacingly with his front paws braced against the tree trunk as he snarled upwards. 

“Alright, alright,” Harry said in defeat as he tried not to cry out of pure frustration.  Everything was a Catch-22 with the Dursleys: If Harry tried to climb down, he’d be attacked, but staying where he was meant he would get in even more trouble with his aunt and uncle (not to mention Marge, who would no doubt blame Harry when Ripper gave himself a canine heart attack from barking so much).

So, resigned to sleeping outdoors, Harry cast one last wistful stare towards the heaping cake still visible on the table inside and settled back amongst the branches.

* * *

**Scottish Highlands, earlier that afternoon.**

“We need to go straight back,” Remus said tiredly as he buttoned his trousers, but Sirius shook his head and continued rummaging around the tent, looking for the spare pair of clothes Remus brought for him.  It was the day after the last night of the full moon, and while usually Remus gave himself a day or two to recuperate before heading back to London, he didn’t want to give Sirius any more exposure than absolutely necessary.  They’d wasted enough time waiting until midafternoon as opposed to leaving at the crack of dawn. 

“Who made you prefect again?” asked Sirius with a wry smile. 

A grin tugged at Remus’s lips, but he fought it back because he wasn’t in the mood to beat around the bush.  He leaned against one of the supporting poles inside the magical tent and folded his arms across his chest.  He’d been dressed for nearly half an hour now after healing his fresh wounds, but Sirius was taking his sweet time looking for a shirt to wear despite there only being so many places within the tent that it could be.

“You know I’m right.”

“And _you_ know you don’t really want to go,” Sirius countered.  

“As a matter of fact, I do.  Middle of nowhere or not, we’re a lot more conspicuous out here than we would be at home, and I’ve done enough risking of our lives these past couple days as it is.  It’s already three o’clock.” 

Sirius looked over his shoulders and quirked an eyebrow at Remus.  “Are you sure there’s not one more day in the cycle?” he said with an amused smile.  “You’re sounding pretty moody, Moony.” 

“Come on,” Remus urged.  As soon as he’d returned to his human state in the early hours of the morning, all the feelings of dread and trepidation crashed down on Remus and made him even more on edge than he’d felt the day he first saw Sirius in Diagon Alley.  “We’ve got to Apparate now!”

“Found it,” said Sirius, ignoring Remus’s anxiousness.  Sirius had finally retrieved the sweater he was looking for and got lost in it for a moment as he pulled it over his head with a sort of nonchalant ease.  He shook out his long hair after he’d gotten it on and Remus shifted his weight from one foot to the other.   “Let’s take the train,” Sirius suggested.  “All the Side-Along’s making my head spin loose.”

Remus shook his head again.  “No dogs allowed.”

“Disillusionment Charm?”

“Not risking it, Pads, sorry.”

Sirius grimaced.  “Fine.  But as soon as we’re back—”

“I’ll get you a secondhand wand, I know.”  Remus could only imagine how hard it must be for Sirius to go without the most basic magical tools and therefore unable to Apparate by himself or even do simple charms, and he knew it would be easier for the both of them once Sirius had his own wand and could be, in his words, useful again. 

“Wish we still had Prongs’ cloak,” Sirius sighed as the pair left the tent.  “What happened to it, anyway?” 

“Dumbledore said he had it put in their vault at Gringotts along with anything else they had that was valuable.”

Sirius grimaced.  “Yeah, well I’m not sure I’d believe anything Dumbledore says anymore,” he said darkly, and Remus frowned.  He knew Sirius was still bitter that the headmaster had known of his innocence all along, yet he had still spent years in prison while Dumbledore sat comfortably at his desk.  “Shame, though, it’d make everything easier.” 

“Well, we don’t have it, so buck up,” Remus said as he clapped a hand on Sirius’s back.  The pair of them backed up from the entrance to the tent, and with a wave of Remus’s wand, the tent packed itself up into a pocket-sized bundle that he shoved into his knapsack.

Sirius hesitated.  “Can we make one stop?  Just one.”

Remus gave Sirius a quizzical look; the latter was standing a few feet away looking much more subdued and reserved than he had a moment ago, almost like he had done something wrong and was just waiting for Remus to scold him for it.  Their gazes met a moment later and Remus could see the question burning in Sirius’s eyes—he was silently pleading for an answer he knew Remus couldn’t give, to a question too absurd to even ask out loud.

“Absolutely not,” Remus said firmly. 

“Moony, please,” begged Sirius, taking an involuntary step forward.  “I’ll go as Padfoot, please, I just want to see him.   You know where he is, I know you do.”

Remus sighed in both sadness and frustration; he’d wondered when this would come up.   “Even if I did—” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Sirius said, his voice suddenly shaking, sounding desperate.  “He’s the reason I escaped, the reason I made myself stay alive in that place for _years_. Don’t tell me you don’t know where he’s living when I know damn well that if you care even a _fraction_ as much as I do, you must have kept tabs on him.”

Remus whipped his head around.  “Don’t say I don’t care.”

“I didn’t! I know you do; you care so much your whole mind hurts from the weight of it.  You want to see him too, and we should!  We’re already outside, I’m already in the open,” Sirius said frantically, gesturing to the hills around them.  “No need to talk to him, just—I want to make sure he’s alright.” 

“Harry’s fine,” said Remus curtly.

Sirius scoffed.  “Bet Dumbledore told you that too.  If he’s with who I think he’s with, Moony,” Sirius trailed off; he didn’t need to finish the sentence. 

Remus’s heart sank as the memory of a night years ago in a pub flashed before his eyes, a memory shockingly similar to the conversation he and Sirius were having now.  

_I can assure you that Harry Potter is safe,_ Dumbledore had said, while Remus vehemently argued the opposite.  

Another flash of memory—Lily on Christmas Eve at Godric’s Hollow less than a year before she’d be killed, sobbing because her sister had sent back another parcel, this time with a letter telling Lily the next gift would be returned as a pile of ash.  They’d all comforted her then, but she was distraught at the realization that her last living relative wanted nothing to do with Lily, much less the baby she was going to have.  

Sirius was right. Remus knew exactly where Harry was, and who he was living with.  The unmoving photograph of baby Harry with his cousin, the one Dumbledore had given Remus all those years ago, was in his dresser drawer back at the flat at that very moment. 

Remus couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as he realized he was acting just as Dumbledore had towards him in the pub, only now he was trying to dissuade Sirius, Harry’s own godfather.  All the reasons Remus had for not allowing Sirius to see Harry were the same ones he himself had so hotly resented Dumbledore for—instability, disheveledness, unfamiliarity.   The only difference was that Sirius was a convict whereas Remus had just been a drunk.

“Remus,” Sirius said softly, “Do you think I want him to see me like this?  He’d run away and never look back.  _I_ just want to see _him_.  Through a window, from down the street, anything.   Please.  He’s my godson.  James and Lily would want us to make sure Harry’s alright.”

Remus knew Sirius was guilt-tripping him, but it wasn’t without some truth behind his reasoning.  Still, he didn’t think Sirius was really grasping the gravity of what he was asking—Remus had seen the papers; even Muggles knew there was a supposed mass-murderer on the loose, and he knew Muggles well enough to know they didn’t waste time taking down anything that posed a threat to them. 

“Do you understand,” Remus said slowly, as if explaining to a child, “the difference between coming to the highlands, and walking through a Muggle neighborhood?” 

They faced off for a solid minute; both of them simultaneously understood and loathed the other’s stance on the matter.  Finally, Sirius narrowed his eyes, then let his shoulders fall.  

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.  “Fine, we’ll play it safe.  Just like always.”  He did nothing to hide the disgust in his voice.  Remus swallowed hard and nodded.  He felt for Sirius, he really did, but there would be plenty of time to visit Harry, _really_ visit, once they found a way to clear Sirius’s name.  Until then, it was an unnecessary risk. 

“I’m sorry,” Remus tried, but Sirius just rolled his eyes.  “Let’s go.”

“Hang on,” Sirius said suddenly, patting his borrowed clothes with a sort of panic.  “I had a couple sweets in my pocket a minute ago.”  He crouched down and began rummaging through the grass, looking for the shiny wrappers.

Remus furrowed his brow, not seeing why this revelation was cause for concern.  “I’m sure I’ve got more back at the flat.”

“Yeah, but we don’t want to leave any traces, right?” Sirius pointed out, looking up at Remus and beckoning for him to come help look.  He would hate for a candy wrapper to be the reason some Auror managed to track him down.  Remus put his knapsack down to help look; Sirius did have a point.  “Bring some light over here, will you?” Sirius said.

“Lumos,” Remus spoke, and his wand illuminated the grass considerably, as the sun had already started to hide behind the ridge of the mountains.  He knelt in the dewy grass near where their tent had been and pawed through the weeds, holding his wand aloft with one hand so the small circle of light encompassed where both he and Sirius were searching.  “What kind of candy was— _argh!_ ”

Sirius had tackled Remus before the latter had time to react, knocking him off balance so that he fell backwards and they rolled a few feet down the hill.  They tussled for a few moments, but Sirius, who was shockingly strong for someone who had spent so much time in Azkaban, overpowered Remus, as it was still only hours after the end of this month’s full moon.  One good jab of Sirius’s knee to Remus’s already bruised and scratched ribs left Remus wheezing, clutching the spot where Sirius had hit him.  In a split second, Sirius had wrestled Remus’s wand from him and jumped out of the way when Remus tried to grab his leg.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius croaked out, and he did look like it as he looked down at Remus, whose transformation had left him too weak to fight back, especially when wandless. 

“Don’t do it,” Remus pleaded, but as quickly as a Blast-Ended Skrewt taking off, Sirius held out Remus’s wand, took a deep breath, and Apparated. 

* * *

 “ _Fuck!_ ” Sirius hissed as he hit the ground so hard his knees almost gave way. He’d landed in the middle of some side street in a city he didn’t recognize, and narrowly missed being hit by a cab passing by as he stumbled out of the way. He dove down the first alleyway he saw and leaned against the brick wall, his chest heaving. 

He’d Splinched, just a little, and he winced as he looked down at his left hand.  Two fingernails were missing and he balled up his fist in the hem of his sweater to try and stanch the bleeding.  Eyes watering from the pain, he glared down at Remus’s wand, which no doubt realized it wasn’t in the hand of its rightful owner.  He was lucky he hadn’t suffered worse, let alone had been able to Apparate at all after not having done so for so long.   But where had he landed?  In his haste to get away before Remus had time to get up and stop him, Sirius hadn’t had any particular destination in mind, just the conviction that he had to Apparate as close to Lily’s sister’s home as possible. 

“Episkey,” Sirius muttered in a whisper, and with a sharp crack that sounded like a spark from a faulty plug, his fingers had healed, though they still felt tender and sore.  He edged further into the darkness of the alley and made sure it was empty before transforming.  He shook out his fur and picked Remus’s wand up in his mouth like a stick, then ventured out into the streets.

Despite the sheer stupidity of his actions—and he did recognize that they were stupid and brash and several other words—Sirius felt alive for the first time in weeks.  Finally, he could walk further than the length of Remus’s apartment, and he felt much like he had during the time he spent roaming as Padfoot after escaping.  Plus, he had the anticipation of seeing Harry for the first time since Harry was an infant…that is, if he could figure out where to go.

As he loped through the city, taking as many narrow side roads as possible, Sirius tried to remember where Lily had said her sister lived, but it was so long ago that he could scarcely come up with a town, much less the name of any street.  All he saw around him were small shops, various restaurants, and up ahead, some giant, drab-looking building with faded gold letters about the doorway that spelled out “Grunnings.”

Sirius sat down under the overhang to the building, unsure of what to do. He hadn’t planned this far ahead, and while he knew Remus couldn’t Apparate anywhere without his wand, he had a sneaking suspicion it would only be a matter of time before he’d be found, and after this little stunt Sirius wouldn’t be surprised if Remus turned him over to the Ministry himself.

From snippets of conversation that Sirius overheard as workers began arriving to start their day, he gathered that he was in some part of Surrey, and he breathed a sigh of relief: at least that sounded somewhat familiar.  He looked around; the front door of the Grunnings building boasted about having the best drills in Britain for half the price of any competitor.  _That doesn’t help_ , Sirius thought bitterly. 

A couple of hours later, Sirius had plodded through the whole city and wound up right back in front of the drill company, dejected.  His only progress had been successfully using his dog charm on a pretzel vendor, who let him take two large cinnamon twists for himself.  It was amazing, sometimes, what a little tail-wagging and puppy dog eyes could do.  Sirius tried to resist the urge to actually gnaw on Remus’s wand like it was a stick as he sat by the entrance to the building, waiting for some kind of hint, anything that might lead him towards Harry.  As luck would have it, relief came.

“Yes, Dudders just turned eight, the little tyke!” boomed a voice so loud it made Sirius yelp in surprise and put his tail between his legs.  A huge, burly man had just exited the building, chatting to a coworker with the blithe kind of pompousness all semi-successful businessmen seemed to have.  “Got to get home, we’re celebrating again tonight!”

“Are you sure you won’t come out for a pint, Vernon?” asked the other man.

“No, no,” Vernon said, though he sounded anything but upset that he couldn’t go to the pub.  “Marge is coming tonight; she’s probably already at the house!  Besides, Petunia has been cooking since yesterday morning, you know how she is.  Everything has to be perfect for our little Dudley!” 

Sirius whined in excitement; _he knew those names!_ Petunia Evans, Lily’s sister—Merlin, he’d heard endless stories about her.  And Dudley must be her son; Lily had always sent gifts to him on the holidays, only for them to become Harry’s toys when Petunia sent them back.  Petunia…how many women had _that_ name?  This “Vernon” had to be her husband, or at least Sirius hoped he was as he got up and started following the man to his car. 

“Shoo!” Vernon called out when he noticed that a huge black dog was following him.  He brandished his briefcase at Sirius, who pretended to shy away, but he carefully watched which way Vernon turned after pulling out of his parking space.  For several blocks, Sirius had to make quick decisions as the car turned and swerved between lanes.  Finally, once they were out of the middle of the city, Sirius was able to run more or less alongside the car, just out of sight as he dodged in an out of hedges on the way back to wherever this “Vernon” character—and hopefully Harry—resided. 

Sirius nearly bounded past the right house as the car turned into the driveway, and he quickly hid in the magnolias across the street as Vernon got out and strode towards the front door.  Sure enough, as the man opened the door Sirius caught a glimpse of a tall, thin woman in an apron and a pudgy young boy with a toy dump truck.  His heart lodged itself somewhere in his throat—for a moment, he’d thought that little boy had been Harry, but even from across the street Sirius heard Vernon bellow “and there’s my son!”

Feeling irritated but not discouraged, Sirius situated himself so he could see into most of the first floor windows of the tiny house—number four, from the sign on the mailbox—and he could even peer into the backyard from his vantage point.  But still, no sign of Harry.

Sirius watched the shadows inside number four, Privet Drive with a kind of melancholy as they moved about.  He had a horrible feeling that none of them were Harry, and that that was because Harry was not allowed to be a part of whatever celebration his aunt and uncle were holding for their “Dudders.”  Sirius’s blood boiled at the thought of his godson being forced to sit out of the fun, locked away in his bedroom.  Little did Sirius know that the reality was even more unfair. 

After an hour had passed, Sirius padded closer to the house, being as quiet as possible as he snuck right up to one of the windows.  It was cracked slightly open and Sirius’s stomach growled as he smelled hints of freshly baked cake floating through the air.  Through the thin slit between the two floral curtains covering the window, he could see a large table around which sat three adults and the same young boy he’d seen in the doorway earlier. 

“Bring out the casserole, boy!” shouted Vernon, and with a jolt that felt like a curse right to the heart, Sirius heard a much smaller, meeker voice respond.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” it said.  Sirius could hardly contain himself and he resisted the urge to put both paws up on the windowsill to see inside.  It had to be Harry; who else would call that man an uncle?  But as Sirius craned his neck to try and see more of what was happening, there suddenly came from somewhere inside a yelp, a shrill bark, and a large crash. 

“OUT!” hollered the woman Sirius assumed was Marge.  “OUT, NOW, YOU INSOLENT BOY!” 

A door around the corner of the house flew open and Sirius immediately dove into one of the hydrangea bushes nearby so he wouldn’t be seen.  He heard frantic panting and the pattering of young feet on grass, followed by frenzied snarling, and watched in shock as a very short, very thin boy bolted across the backyard, a fat French bulldog hot on his heels. 

_Harry._

Sirius was rooted to the spot; he didn’t know what to do! He wanted to lunge at the smaller dog, but he remained frozen as he watched Harry climb a large tree so nimbly he might have been part bear until he was out of reach of the angry bulldog.  Gone was the tiny baby that Sirius used to hold upright as he zoomed around on a toy broomstick; in his place was a young boy with shaggy black hair and glasses. Already, Harry was the spitting image of James, and Sirius felt his throat constrict with emotion. 

He lost track of how long he sat in the hydrangeas, just watching. He battled with himself the whole time, over whether to reveal himself and scare the bulldog away, or stay hidden, but by doing so force Harry to endure a longer time sitting in the tree.  Finally, after watching his godson try several times to get down, Sirius stepped forward.

All he had to do was growl and the bulldog bolted with a pitiful yelp.  It slipped through the door that led inside and Sirius’s heart began beating faster as he took a few more tentative steps forward.  For the first time in years, Sirius looked his godson in the eye.  Harry’s face was full of fear, and Sirius tried his best to look less like a menacing hound and more like a friendly dog.  He sat at the base of the tree and looked up through the branches at Harry, even going so far as to wag his tail slightly.

After a moment, Harry finally started to climb down, but he never took his eyes off of Sirius.  Sirius had to admire Harry’s bravery; he seemed to have gotten that from James as well.  When he was back on the ground, Harry stood up as high as he could, but was still shorter than Sirius. 

“Erm,” Harry said meekly, though there didn’t seem to be any fear anymore, just uncertainty as he stood face-to-face with the giant dog that had come to his rescue.  “Thanks.” 

Sirius wanted to transform, to wrap Harry in a hug and tell him everything, but he knew that was out of the question.  Just one look at his aunt and uncle told Sirius that there was no chance Harry knew anything about his own parents, let alone about the magical world.  This would have to do.  Sirius bowed his head just slightly in a nod, and Harry raised his hand for just a moment as if he was going to pat Sirius on the head, but he then ran across the lawn and back into the house as fast as he could.  

The exchange would have been insignificant under any other circumstances, but for Sirius, just getting to look at Harry for a few seconds had been worth all the years in Azkaban.

* * *

**Scottish Highlands, that night**

Remus was livid.  Of all the ways Sirius could have put himself in danger, stealing a wand and using it to Apparate directly into a Muggle-populated area when his face was plastered on every street corner was easily the most idiotic.  

Apparating without a wand was damn near impossible even for the most advanced wizards, and Remus knew by the way he looked that he wouldn’t make it five paces into the nearest village before someone called the police on him, so after a fair amount of shouting at thin air and kicking at the grass so hard he tore chunks of it up, Remus resigned himself to setting up the tent again and praying Sirius would at least have the sense and the decency to come back for him. _If,_ Remus thought, _if he wasn’t caught trying to find Harry._

It was well past dark when Sirius finally did return with a loud crack about twenty yards away.  Remus didn’t look up. He was sitting outside the tent flap, staring fixatedly at the grass with a mixture of anger, fear, and disgust in his eyes. He didn’t know which he wanted to do first when Sirius came within reach, punch him or kick him right in the gut.  There would be time for both, Remus figured. 

Sirius’s footsteps grew closer until he was standing only feet away from Remus. After a moment’s pause, Sirius dropped Remus’s wand at his feet and shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. Slowly, Remus picked up his wand and got to his feet. He stared at the stick in his hand and Sirius prepared himself for whatever hex Remus was about to hit him with, knowing it would be well deserved.

“I’m—”

Sirius didn’t even get the full sentence out before Remus punched him square in the jaw with all the strength he could muster. Caught completely off-guard, Sirius fell to the ground and clutched at his mouth, moaning in pain.

“Okay,” he gasped a second later, as Remus had knelt down, grabbed Sirius by the collar, and yanked him back to his feet. “I deserve that. I know. I’m sorry,” he said, his chest heaving. “Remus—Harry—I saw him. He’s with Lily’s sister’s family, and they—” Sirius’s voice was shaking and so was Remus’s fist as he drew it back for another punch. Sirius held his hands in front of his face, spluttering a little as he tasted blood in his mouth from when Remus had hit him. 

“They’re treating him like a servant,” Sirius choked out. He was near tears now that the knowledge of how Harry was being treated was sinking in. “We have to help him, we’ve got to do whatever it takes, Moony,” he cried.

Remus lowered his fist and let go of Sirius’s sweater. Sirius straightened up and looked Remus dead in the eye.  Remus could tell Sirius meant every word of what he had said, and angry though he was that Sirius had run off, he felt a rush of pity and sadness at the thought of Harry, only seven, and living with such awful people, and for Sirius, who had to see it happening without being able to intervene.  He felt bad, but not bad enough to regret throwing that punch.

“We will,” Remus assured, and Sirius nodded frantically.  Remus gripped him by the shoulders.  “But Sirius, if you ever do anything like this again, I’ll take my wand back and shove it so far up your ass you can’t walk straight for a week.”

Even as upset as he was, Sirius resisted the urge to joke around and respond with “promise??” He opted for a simple nod instead and then the two of them embraced, and Sirius held onto Remus so tightly it was actually hard for Remus to breathe.  

When they finally broke apart, Remus packed up the tent for the second time that day and this time, Sirius took his hand when he extended it to Apparate.  They landed messily inside Remus’s living room and Sirius immediately sat down on the couch with his head in his hands.  He almost wished he hadn’t seen Harry at all, but it had given him a new surge of purpose.  _Clear my name, help Harry, kill Peter_ , he thought over and over in his head like a broken record.  He kept repeating those words until they were all he could hear.  Meanwhile, Remus bustled around the apartment, making sure there was no object nor enchantment out of place. 

Then came a very sharp, very loud knock on the door that made both men freeze.  Remus slowly put down the books he’d been reorganizing and Sirius got to his feet and stood close behind Remus as they both faced the door.  Sirius narrowed his eyes; something felt off.  He raised one hand and was about to lay it on Remus’s shoulder in warning, but at the same time, Remus strode towards the door to look through the peephole.

“It’s Mary,” he said nervously.  Remus hadn’t seen nor heard from her since she’d stormed out of her apartment the day she found out Sirius was there.  “Maybe she wants to talk things over?”

Sirius was extremely suspicious, but he nodded, knowing that Remus trusted Mary immensely.  “Go on, then,” he said shortly.

Remus undid the locks swiftly and turned the doorknob.  “Mary, hi, what are you—?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed out, then clapped a hand over her mouth as she was abruptly pushed aside by an Auror Remus hadn’t been able to see when he looked through the peephole. 

“Auror Hectern Abbey,” the man growled as he barged inside, quickly followed by two other wizards and a witch in the same high-collared robes.  Sirius’s heart dropped to his shoes.  He had no time and no place to hide; he could only stand frozen in fear as the Aurors stared directly at him. 

“Sirius Black,” Abbey said with manic glee, with a quick glance back at Mary, who had tears streaming silently down her face. “Seems our informant was right after all.”

* * *

**DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNN. What is Mary doing?!**

**-C**

 


	12. Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE’S CHAPTER 12!!! Amazing how fast I can get these done when school isn’t making me want to die (@ the American education system). I hope you guys like this one, I know I left you with a cliffhanger last time so I wanted to get it posted as soon as possible! All feedback is welcome :)

**The Ministry of Magic**

**July 1, 1988**

“No! _NO!”_ Sirius roared, using every ounce of strength he had to try and fight the two Aurors flanking him.  He was battling tooth and nail to try and get out of their vice-like grasp, and he thrashed around so much that a third Auror had to come to the other two’s aid.

“Keep that up and it’ll be straight to the Dementors with you,” growled the one called Abbey, and Sirius spat in his face. They were trying to force him into a Ministry holding cell; Remus had already been tossed in the neighboring one and sat on the cot with his face in his hands, too shaken to even resist, but he looked up when he heard Sirius cry out in pain and saw that one of the Aurors—Remus realized with a jolt that it was one of the pair that had come to Florean’s shop to drop off wanted posters—had punched Sirius hard in the gut. 

“I—won’t—go—back!” Sirius was shouting, twisting his arms all over the place to the point that Remus was worried he might dislocate both his shoulders.  He even tried to bite one of the Aurors as she reached across his body to unlock the cell door, and as soon as she got it open, Sirius was thrust hard onto the concrete floor.  He scrambled to his feet and charged forward, but Abbey slammed the door just in time and Sirius could only shake the iron bars in fury as the three Aurors stalked down the hall, up a set of stairs, and out of sight. 

With a roar of frustration, Sirius began frantically looking for any way out; he even tried picking the lock with his fingernail, but recoiled after he received an actual electrical shock, likely from some protective spell put in place to prevent escape.  The cells were, in a word, barbaric; they looked like they’d been plucked right out of the brig of an old pirate ship.  All of the walls were simply made up of vertical bars, which gave the occupants absolutely no privacy, but ensured they could always be seen.

“Sirius,” Remus said weakly, noticing that Sirius had started repeatedly throwing his weight against the door to no avail, flinching every time he set off the enchantments.  “Sirius, stop it, you’ll hurt yourself.” 

“This is your fault,” Sirius hissed, suddenly turning on Remus.  “‘We can trust Mary, Mary’s my friend,’” he mimicked Remus’s voice.  “You should have Obliviated that bitch when you had the chance.” 

Remus felt sick, both because of what Mary had done, and because Sirius was absolutely right. 

“I’m sorry, I…didn’t think she would tell,” Remus said dumbly, his voice weak and whispery.  And she hadn’t told, not for weeks after she found out Sirius was hiding out in Remus’s flat.  He thought she would keep her silence, afraid that if she went to authorities, she’d be arrested as an accomplice when they found out she lent Remus the money to visit Sirius in the first place. 

“She works for the Ministry, you _idiot!_ ” Sirius spat.  He was seething; Remus hadn’t seen him this angry since he and James had their biggest row in fifth year.

“And who was it who went along with it all? You were the one who let her see you,” Remus tried to argue back, but he knew he was in the wrong. 

“I had no choice!  You _gave_ me no choice; she was going to curse you if I didn’t come out of that room!”

Remus had stood up and paced twice around his tiny cell, then sat back down on the threadbare cot again, rubbing his temples. 

“There’s got to be some way to get out of this.  As soon as it hits the Prophet that they got you—got us—everyone will want a trial, and we, we can explain—”   Sirius cut Remus off with manic laughter.  

“Everyone wants a trial,” he said softly, shaking his head in anger, “no, everyone wants me dead!  They’ve already accepted what they _think_ happened as what actually happened.  They’ll want me to have already gotten the Kiss by the time they find out, and it’ll likely be the same for you!”  Sirius seemed to have finally exhausted his anger—or maybe the thought of facing dementors again simply drained him—because he, too, sat down, but on the concrete floor, as his cell didn’t even have a mattress.  

He looked around morosely; as much as he didn’t want to think it, he was almost certain the interior of the cell and the dark, mildew-covered corridor outside it would be the last thing he’d ever see.  He simply couldn’t think of any way out of it this time; escaping blind dementors as a dog was one feat, but to somehow get out of a highly enforced holding cell and work his way out of the Ministry of Magic without giving away his disguise and without a wand, that was impossible.  Furthermore, Remus was now going to have to pay the price for Sirius’s crime, which made him all the more miserable.  The one blessing of being jailed at the Ministry and not Azkaban was that at least here, there were no dementors posted five feet away.  

“If we make it out of here, I’ll kill her,” Sirius said through gritted teeth. 

“She was scared, Sirius,” Remus said pleadingly.  As livid as he was with Mary, he also had a knack for putting himself in others’ shoes, which was a skill Sirius never possessed. 

“Oh, sure! It definitely had nothing to do with the reward on my head,” Sirius said sarcastically.  “Think, Remus, you borrowed two hundred galleons from her and only paid a few back, and the Ministry’s offering a thousand just for information about me.  She’s probably sitting on a very pretty pile right about now; she _wanted_ to turn us in.”

Remus hadn’t thought about that.  Then, the memory of Mary on his doorstep, sobbing out her apologies as the Aurors barged in, made him certain she’d been conflicted over the decision. 

“They’ve got to ask her why, at the trial,” Remus said in what he hoped was a hopeful tone of voice.

“There won’t _be_ a trial, don’t you get it yet?!  The Wizengamot made that pretty clear the first time around.” 

“Then why are we here, and not in Azkaban, or already Kissed?  And…and you didn’t have me back then; I can testify, and they’ll—” 

“You’re in a cell just like mine, Moony,” said Sirius darkly.  “Your word’s not going to do much.” 

“Dumbledore could—”

If looks could kill, Remus would have been dead from the icy glare Sirius gave him.  

“I never want to hear that man’s name again.  He could have prevented all of this.”  With that, he slumped back against the rear wall of his cell, the iron bars digging uncomfortably into his back. Remus stared at Sirius with a mixture of pity and disappointment.  

“This isn’t like you,” he said.  “Why aren’t you fighting back?”

“I was so close to him,” Sirius whispered, which wasn’t at all what Remus expected to hear.  “Could have reached out and laid a paw on his shoulder.” He extended his arm and grasped at thin air, his eyes glassy and unfocused.  He couldn’t believe that only hours ago, he was staring his godson in the face, naively thinking that maybe soon, they could be a proper family…

Remus got up and sat as close to the shared wall as he could without getting zapped by the protective spells. 

“Then don’t just sit there and give up.  If you want to see Harry again, sitting here just waiting for the Dementor’s Kiss is pretty damn counterproductive.”

“Even if we did get a trial…he won’t want to know me.  A disgraced ex-convict for a godfather?  I sure as hell wouldn’t want that, and I don’t expect Harry to.” 

Remus shook his head; he’d just imagined a teenage Sirius finding out he had a long-lost member of the family who’d had to fight to be cleared after years in prison.  _That_ Sirius was beaming, begging his own imaginary convict godfather to tell the story of his escape again. 

“Yes, you would’ve.  You would have thought it was the coolest thing in the world to have an ex-prisoner in the family.” 

“Yeah, well I’m not fifteen anymore, am I?  And in case you’ve forgotten, my family’s already got criminals.   They’re just not innocent.”  Sirius fell silent and turned away from Remus, who was at a loss for words.  

Sirius had done a fairly good job keeping his own guilt at bay during the time he spent with Remus.  Having one of his best friends back made it much easier to differentiate between who was to blame—Peter—and who had just made a bad judgment call.  Still, sitting in the holding cell was far too reminiscent of the years he spent in Azkaban constantly reliving James and Lily’s death, and perpetually blaming himself for the role he played in it. 

* * *

**Godric’s Hollow**

**July 23, 1981.**

“Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, never let it fade away,” Sirius sang softly as he paced around Harry’s nursery.  He cradled the little boy against his chest, bouncing him softly in his arms as Harry blinked tiredly and occasionally made half a sleepy effort to point at the tiny plastic owls on his crib mobile.  The magical figurines flapped their wings lazily as they flew in a circle, each one representing a different breed. 

“Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day,” Sirius continued with the lullaby as Harry nestled his head into the hollow between Sirius’s neck and collarbone. Sirius smiled and kissed the top of Harry’s head gently as Harry blinked slowly one, twice, three times, and then fell fast asleep in his godfather’s arms.  Still humming the tune, Sirius caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror next to Harry’s changing table and saw Lily in the reflection, leaning against the doorframe behind him and smiling softly. 

He turned and grinned as Lily crossed the room. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” she whispered as she carefully lifted her son from Sirius’s arms and placed him down in the crib. “He’ll fuss all day, but the second you get here, he’s calm,” she shrugged in tired wonder and made sure Harry’s stuffed hippogriff was within reach of his tiny hands. 

Sirius rested his forearms on the railing of the crib and reached down to try and smooth the mop of black hair atop Harry’s head. “Just part of my job,” he said quietly so as not to wake Harry from the slumber he’d finally fallen into.  

“He loves you.”

“He loves you, too, Lil,” Sirius assured her. “All babies make a fuss; Harry just…does it a lot.” 

Lily sighed and leaned her head on Sirius’s shoulder and they both chuckled as Harry gurgled in his sleep and drooled a little.  Lily wiped the spittle from his chin with her thumb and with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she wiped it off on Sirius’s shirt, much to his dismay.  After Sirius kissed his fingers and pressed them on Harry’s forehead one last time, the pair quietly descended the stairs and rejoined James in the living room, where he’d nearly fallen asleep on the couch himself.  It was exhausting, trying to raise a baby who wasn’t even a year old yet when she and James were hardly old enough to call themselves real adults.  She didn’t know what they would do without Sirius, who seemed to be the only person who could calm Harry down on nights such as this when he just wouldn’t stop screaming.

“I think you three have a bargain,” Lily joked and cocked her head towards James, who jerked out of his doze with a start.  “Harry knows how bad this one here gets cabin fever and makes a ruckus so his dad’s best mate just _has_ to come visit.”

James grinned sleepily and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses.  

“Thanks again for coming, mate,” he told Sirius.  Lily came up behind the couch and started massaging her husband’s shoulders, and James covered one of her hands with his own.  “We love the kid, but Merlin, it’s hard to get him to bed.  Guess he just likes your voice,” James finished, speaking the last words through a tremendous yawn.  

“Any time,” Sirius replied as he took a seat in one of the armchairs near the fireplace.  “Anything else I can do?” 

Lily shook her head as she returned from the kitchen with three porcelain cups and a pot of tea.  “You’ll be doing more than enough for us already.”  

The three of them exchanged a meaningful glance; they all knew what Lily meant.  Although James and Lily had been in hiding for nearly a year, Dumbledore had only recently advised them that now the situation was so dire that their best hope of staying hidden was to use the Fidelius Charm.  Of course, James had insisted that Sirius should be their Secret Keeper, to which Dumbledore reluctantly agreed, and they were set to perform the charm the very next day. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Sirius said after a pause.  He shook his head no when Lily offered him a sugar cube for his tea.  She and James looked at Sirius questioningly, awaiting further explanation.  “I don’t think I should do it.” 

James looked ten times more awake than he had a moment ago.  “Why not?” he asked.  Lily had a mixture of fright and suspicion etched on her face. 

“It’s obvious.”

“No it’s not, explain it to us,” Lily said shrilly, and Sirius quickly backtracked. 

“No, I mean _the choice_ is obvious.  Prongs—everyone knows I’m your best mate, we’d always be partners on missions, hell, I’ve even helped you two fight Voldemort off before.  And my cousin Bellatrix is practically his right-hand man, er, woman now; if she hasn’t already told him how well I know the both of you, it’s only a matter of time before she does.” 

Sirius paused to let his words sink in, and he could tell they were. 

“If you don’t want to switch, I’m still as committed as I’ve ever been and I am fully prepared to die for all three of you if it comes to it,” Sirius said, and he glanced towards the stairs leading up to Harry’s nursery. 

“Don’t say that,” Lily cut in, sounding tearful. 

“I _am_.  Although I have to admit I’m not too keen on the idea,” he said more lightheartedly, and that got Lily to smile, although weakly.  “I just think that if you really want to fool Voldemort and stay safe, you should use someone he’d never expect.  Someone he wouldn’t even consider in the first place.” 

“I don’t like it,” Lily said after a hefty pause.  “The charm is already so tricky; letting more people know we’re using it would only make it weaker.  Besides, who would do it?  Dumbledore’s too obvious, I _don’t_ trust Frank or Alice,” Lily said fervently, and James reached over to squeeze her hand.  Sirius shot Lily a sympathetic look; ever since they’d heard that the prophecy concerning Harry could have just as easily been meant for the Longbottoms’ son, Lily had been quite cold and loathsome towards them.  She knew it was childish, that it wasn’t their fault, but the way she felt was also understandable, as a mother who just wanted to protect her family.  Lily shook her head again.  “Remus could, but—” 

“Not Remus,” Sirius interrupted sharply, his grip tightening involuntarily around his teacup. 

“Stop it,” Lily snapped uncharacteristically, and she glared at Sirius from the couch; he and James had had a huge row a couple of months prior over Remus’s loyalty, which Lily had found herself right in the middle of.  James thought it was insulting and outrageous that Sirius would suspect Remus just because he wasn’t around most of the time; Sirius, on the other hand, wouldn’t budge and remained convinced that their own best friend wasn’t trustworthy anymore.  “We already agreed not to let him visit and that’s bad enough, just—don’t start, Padfoot.” 

Sirius felt his jaw twitch, but he remained silent.  He knew better than to argue with Lily when she used his nickname. 

“If we switch,” she said slowly a moment later after the tension in the room had simmered down, “and I’m not saying we will…who did you have in mind?” 

“Wormtail,” said Sirius stonily.  Lily dropped her spoon with a clatter.

“You’re mad,” she said.  “I mean—I love him, and I know he’s our friend, but do you really think he’d be able to handle it?”  

“That’s exactly why he _can_ , because people think he _can’t_ ,” Sirius explained somewhat impatiently.  “Alright, so he’s not a fighter, but he doesn’t have to be.  We’ll bluff it—Voldemort will still assume it’s me, that’s fine, I can take care of myself.  Wormtail just needs to keep his mouth shut and his head down and that’s what he does already.” 

James had kept silent the entire time, with his elbows on his knees and his hands folded under his chin as he stared contemplatively at a frayed spot on the carpet. 

“James?” Lily asked weakly, her hand resting on his thigh. 

James remained quiet for another moment, mulling over the tumultuous thoughts flying around his brain.  Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke, very slowly, as if each word could be a land mine that would blow the entire conversation up in their faces. 

“Are you sure about Remus?  I mean, are you _absolutely positive,_ Padfoot?”

“Not this again,” Lily said.  She was exhausted enough already; going into yet another debate over whether Remus was a spy would just about do her in. 

Sirius nodded curtly.  “You wanted to know where he’s been.  I know.  I think I suspected it all along, but Dumbledore finally confirmed it—Prongs, Dumbledore sent him to parlay with werewolves up north, try and get them to fight for us and not Voldemort.  But Greyback’s still at large and Remus has been with them for months now.  Did it ever occur to you he might still be gone because he’s not on our side anymore?  Remember the McKinnons and Benjy?” 

Lily stifled a sob and James clenched his hand in a fist.  During a last-minute Order meeting, Marlene McKinnon and her family, along with Benjy Fenwick, had been assigned an ambush operation.  It should have been simple—all they had to do was take a bit of Polyjuice Potion and sneak into one of the pubs in Knockturn Alley, where Death Eaters were known to meet.  No one besides the Order knew who was involved, but by the end of the week all of them were dead, and Remus never came to another meeting. 

“He’s a spy, I know it,” said Sirius firmly.  “And using Wormtail would send him off-track, too.” 

He could see Lily glaring at him out of the corner of his eye—she was always close with Remus—but Sirius kept his eyes locked with James’s, and after a very tense moment, James nodded.  Lily swore under her breath, but when Sirius looked her in the eye, he could see that she understood that Remus simply wasn’t worth the risk. 

“Have you talked to Wormtail yet?” James asked. 

“Before running it by you two?” Sirius said, sounding like he thought the idea was rather funny.  “I would never do that.  I’ll go straight to him when I leave here.” 

“You wouldn’t give him a heads-up, and yet you trust him with our lives.  With Harry’s life,” Lily said sternly.

“Lily,” James said quietly, a warning tone in his voice.  “Sirius is right.” 

Sirius nodded his thanks to James.  “Think of it this way, now he’ll actually have something useful to do, so he’ll be eager to commit to it.”  The three of them shared a laugh at that. 

“We’ll have to explain everything to him.  He can’t just know the secret, he’s got to know exactly how the charm works, and what’s at stake,” Lily said, and James and Sirius both nodded. 

“And we’ll let Dumbledore in on it too, just in case,” Sirius added. 

“No,” said James. 

“Sorry?” 

“No telling Dumbledore.  Lily’s right, the Fidelius Charm’s complicated.  The fewer people that know we’re using it, let alone changing things around, the better.  We tell Wormtail and no one else.”

Lily squeezed James’s hand; her heart was beating incredibly fast, and it increased as she thought of Harry asleep in the nursery, blissfully unaware of the severity of the situation at hand.  She prayed to every god she could think of that he’d remain ignorant and safe.

“You can still be here when we do the charm with Wormy tomorrow, Sirius,” Lily said.  “You’d be a secondary Secret-Keeper—” 

“Lily, that’s risky,” Sirius said earnestly. 

“No, the way it works, you won’t be able to tell anyone where we are even if you wanted to, because only the actual Secret-Keeper can divulge it—but this way you’ll still be able to visit,” she said with a loving glance at James, who looked like he could cry happy tears upon realizing he wouldn’t have to give up seeing his best mate.  After all, Merlin only knew how long they’d have to be in hiding. 

“Alright, that’s settled then,” Sirius said.  James and Lily nodded and stood up as Sirius rose to leave.  They crushed together in a three-way hug through which they comforted both themselves and each other.  Sirius sighed and spoke again.  “I’ll tell Peter tonight and we’ll do the charm tomorrow like we planned.  I promise, this is the right move.”

* * *

 

**Ministry Holding Cell**

**July 3, 1988.**

Remus and Sirius were nearing the end of their third day of imprisonment, deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic building.  They were fed well, which Remus saw as a good sign, but Sirius still spent most of his time in silence, curled up in the corner while he picked at his food and sulked.  Though he still wished Sirius would show some gumption, Remus couldn’t blame him for his sour mood.

It was late; Remus guessed it was ten or eleven o’clock based on the amount of moonlight he could just barely see pouring into a tiny slit window at the end of the stone corridor.  Sirius was fast asleep, snoring lightly in his corner.  The witch who came to deliver their meals never said a word, but she’d taken slight pity on Sirius and given him a blanket on the second day, but he still had no bed. 

Remus tried his best to sleep, but it was impossible to stop thinking about all the what-ifs that were to come.  A number of witches and wizards in official Ministry robes had come down to his and Sirius’s cells, but they never spoke, only watched and murmured to each other too quietly for Remus or Sirius to hear.  Day in and day out, Remus tried desperately to pick up any hint that might tell him whether they would get a trial or whether this cell was just a quick stop on the way to a much worse fate.

As he lay with his thin pillow propped behind his back, Remus agonized over every interaction he’d had with Mary since he visited Sirius.  He couldn’t think of a single instance where he ever thought she was truly suspicious of him, and he saw the image of her crying as she turned them in every time he closed his eyes. 

Suddenly, and he was surprised Sirius hadn’t heard it too and awoken, Remus heard footsteps coming their way.  They were getting closer, faster, and Remus was about to shout to Sirius to _wake the hell up, someone’s coming_ , but then who should appear out of the shadows but Mary Macdonald herself. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Remus snarled, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Sirius.  If he were to open his eyes and see her there, there was no telling what he’d do. 

Mary looked like hell—her usually bouncy curls hung limp at her shoulders, she was pale even in the near-darkness, and the bags under her eyes rivaled Remus’s. 

“I wanted to apologize,” she said, sounding downright terrified. “I’m not supposed to be down here, but my Ministry card gives me access everywhere…bit of an oversight there,” she said with a nervous laugh. 

Remus scoffed.  “Unless you’ve come to break us out, you’re better off turning around.”  He started to turn away. 

“I know why you did it,” she blurted out, and her eyes widened; she hadn’t meant to speak so loudly, and she covered her mouth as though that would help trap the sound.  “I know why you helped him.” 

“Mary,” Remus said, getting more and more frustrated with her by the second, “I didn’t help him escape. I only helped afterwards because he’s innoc—” 

“You didn’t just lose James and Lily that night,” she whispered, cutting him off.  “You lost him too, that’s why it hurt you so much.  Not only was he gone, but he betrayed your best friends too…I don’t blame you, by the way, for how you were afterwards.  That combination would hurt anyone, but you weren’t the only one who missed them.  You weren’t the only one hurting.  James and Lily were my friends, too,” Mary said tearfully.  “I should have known the second you told me you were visiting that you never moved on.”

“Of course I didn’t, you don’t just _move on_ when your best friends have been murdered!” Remus spluttered; he’d finally found his voice, spurred by the angry realization that Mary seemed to be saying he should be over what happened at Godric’s Hollow by now.  She just didn’t understand—something like that was impossible to get over.  “After they died, I had no one!  I didn’t even have closure, that’s why I wanted to visit, you knew all this! And look what you’ve done now, turned the both of us in without even stopping to consider that _maybe you don’t know the full story!_ ” he whispered as furiously as he could. 

“You had _me_ ,” Mary said, her voice shaking.  “I was always there for you, always trying to help, only you didn’t want to _be_ helped.  You were all I had left too, did you ever stop to think of that?  Did you ever consider for a second that maybe you weren’t alone all that time, that maybe someone actually _did_ still care?” Both Remus and Mary were shocked into silence and Mary drew in a sharp breath and didn’t let it back out, as if she was trying to breathe the words she’d just said back in.  But there they still hung in the damp air between them, and the pounding of Remus’s heart against his chest like felt like the hoof beats of a hundred centaurs.

Mary shook her head at the ground.  “But all along, you only wanted one thing.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Remus challenged.

Mary’s eyes slid downwards and sideways; she was started at Sirius’s sleeping form.  “It’s like I said.  You’d always choose him.  Even knowing he was guilty, even after he betrayed James and Lily and left Harry to die…Merlin, you’re no better than he is!” 

“How dare you,” Remus hissed.  “You’re right, you were there for me, and you saw how much their deaths ruined me, how some days I could barely even get out of bed, how angry I was at Sirius before I realized I was wrong.  So how dare you stand there and say otherwise?” 

Mary didn’t look angry anymore, but she didn’t look sad, either.  It was something beyond that.  

“Is that why you turned us in?  Because you thought I ran back to him knowing he was guilty?  I visited him _thinking_ he was, but if you’d just listen—” 

“I let you convince me you were fit to visit him,” Mary interrupted.  “I won’t let you convince me he’s innocent.  For all I know you were both on You-Know-Who’s side all along, and I couldn’t just leave things be when I knew you were housing a criminal!”

“Do you hear yourself?!  What about me would ever make you think I’d support Voldemort?!” Remus had to fight to keep his voice down.  Immediately, he regretted asking.  Mary didn’t say anything; she simply stared Remus down, her eyes filled with tears.  The longer they stared at each other, the worse the sinking feeling in Remus’s stomach got, until finally…

“No,” he moaned, aghast, his face ashen with fear.  “No, _no_ , you didn’t, please tell me you didn’t—you didn’t tell them—” 

Mary nodded slowly and Remus backed away from the bars feeling like he might faint.  She’d told the Ministry that he was a werewolf. 

“I had to,” she cried.

“No, you didn’t,” said Remus, his mouth bone dry. 

“Remus, they made me—!”

“I want you to leave,” he croaked.  “Go.” Mary didn’t move.  She was staring at Remus with that same strange look on her face; it was almost like heartbreak. 

“You love him,” Mary said through a half-sob.  It almost sounded like an accusation, and Remus was left speechless, his mind reeling.  “You do, don’t you?”

Remus’s eyes darted from Mary to Sirius, back and forth, back and forth.  His heart hammered against his chest so hard he could hear the thumping in his head.   Try as he might, he couldn’t form words; it was like his brain and his mouth had disconnected from each other.  He couldn’t deny what she’d said, either. 

“You see?  You do, and you’ve been on his side this whole time.  There’s a point where you have to put the good of the Wizarding world before your friends, and I’m sorry, but I reached it.”  

Remus could scarcely breathe; he could usually understand where someone else was coming from, but such a brash decision coming from someone as levelheaded as Mary usually was had shaken him to his core. 

“I don’t want to see you in this cell any more than you want to be in it,” Mary continued.  “Especially when—” her breath caught in her throat.  “—especially when I think all along I might have been a little bit in love with you.” 

Mary looked as horrified by her words as Remus did upon hearing them.  She covered her mouth with one hand and glanced at Sirius, who was still sleeping soundly one cell over.  Her eyes were puffy with the sort of redness brought on by tears that form, but never get heavy enough to fall.  With one last miserable look at Remus, she quickly turned on her heel and ran back down the corridor, leaving Remus in his cell, feeling like he’d just been Stunned.

Six feet away, Sirius lay facing the opposite wall wrapped in his thin blanket, his eyes wide open and his heart beating a mile a minute.

* * *

**Oh shoot!!!!! I'm sorry for another cliffhanger, but I guess that means you'll just have to keep checking in to see the next part! :P**

**-C**

 


	13. Portmanteau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the delay, guys…life, ya know? I’ve been working on this chapter on and off when I have little windows of time so I hope you enjoy it! I’m on spring break for a week now too, so I’m hoping to get at least another chapter up in that time. Also…I hate to say this but there are only a few chapters left in this fic! We’re nearing the end and I am so not ready, but I wanted to give y’all a heads-up and another big thank you for sticking with me and my Marauder-ing boys <3
> 
> Also – there’s some legal talk in this chapter and I tried to make it not too hard to understand. I’m American and I fully admit I’m no expert on our legal system, but I tried to incorporate bits of it into the parts when I talk about the Wizengamot / Wizarding judicial system because we don’t really get a clear outline of how that all works in HP!

* * *

**_July 3, 1988._ **

**_The Ministry of Magic Holding Cell_ **

Too shaken to fall asleep immediately, Remus lay on his side after Mary left, just barely able to make out Sirius’s form on the ground nearby. Hours after the last sounds of her retreating footsteps faded, their argument echoed in Remus’s mind.  Although logically he knew only he could hear it played over and over, it seemed in his mind’s ear as loud as an air raid siren as he lay on his back counting the tiny stalactites reaching down from the ceiling of the cell like sinister claws that were getting ever closer to snatching him right up.

Mary was right; he did love Sirius.  Always had. Even during the darkest years of his life when he was convinced Sirius was a murderer, it had to have been there still, otherwise why was he so distraught for so long?  Only two things did that—loss and love—and he’d experienced both.

Whether that was the worst or the best part of all Mary had said, Remus couldn’t decide.  No, he reminded himself, the worst part was that she’d told the Ministry about his lycanthropy, the one thing he’d striven his whole life to keep secret.  And as a Ministry worker, she knew exactly what kind of repercussions he’d face now that his name was undoubtedly on the Registry, written in the Prophet next to the glaring word _werewolf_ , on any legal documents…

“Christ,” Remus whispered weakly to himself at the thought, then smiled wryly; things  _must_  be bad if he’d started swearing at Muggle gods instead of good old Merlin.  But it was really no laughing matter, and in combination with everything else she’d done, Remus was positive there was no rebuilding a friendship with Mary after this. That is, if he even survived to entertain the thought of forgiveness.

When he finally did doze off, Remus dreamt that he and Sirius were dragged down a long corridor, right up to a giant, billowing dementor, but when it pulled back its hood to administer the Kiss, it was Mary, shouting louder than ever,  _“you love him, you love him!”_ while the Aurors laughed on the sidelines, and Sirius glared at Remus as though disgusted by the mere thought of him.

* * *

“UP!”

It wasn’t the voice that woke Remus from his far from peaceful slumber; it was the subsequent banging of wood on iron as a wizard carrying what looked like a policeman’s Billy club slammed it against the bars of Remus’s cell until he opened his eyes. He immediately shielded them against the blinding glare of no fewer than three wands, all illuminated and pointed right at his and Sirius’s faces.

Sirius, too, was grumbling as he got off the ground and pulled his blanket around his shoulders. Had it not been such a dire situation, Remus might have chuckled at how Sirius looked, for he’d seen that same groggy, disheveled, who-the-fuck-woke-me-up look many times back at Hogwarts.  

“What’s going on?” Sirius barked as he got his bearings.  The three wizards made a point to sneer at him long and hard before answering. 

“You’re both to be taken upstairs,” one of them said curtly, and once his eyes adjusted, Remus realized the two Aurors that had come into Florean’s parlor with wanted posters were back.  

The answer was a vague one that set both imprisoned men’s hearts racing—what did upstairs mean?  What was waiting for them there; a jury or dementors?  Then, the third Auror spoke—he’d been the one who barged into Remus’s flat and arrested them both.  Hectern Abbey.  There was no way Remus would ever forget that name.

“I’ll take Black,” Abbey barked. “Whorle, Herring—restrain the werewolf.”

_They already knew._  Remus felt anger boiling up inside him, as well as a lump rising in his throat at the utter disgust dripping from Abbey’s voice.  The Aurors murmured amongst themselves for a moment while Sirius and Remus exchanged looks; they used to pride themselves on their ability to converse through their eyes alone, but it was too dim in the cells and neither of them wanted to risk uttering a word.  Strangely, Remus found himself longing to transform so he and Sirius could actually hear each other’s voices in their heads like they always did as animals.

“What’s upstairs?” Sirius asked finally, and Remus could practically feel his heart break at how heavily Sirius’s voice weighed with fear; it shook harder than the Whomping Willow at its most agitated, and Remus could tell by how tightly and childishly Sirius was still holding the blanket around himself that he was doing so to hide his trembling hands.

“Answer his question,” Remus ordered through gritted teeth as Whorle unlocked the cell door.  “If you’re going to kill us, we’re going to find out either way, so you might as well tell us now.”  Remus took an involuntary half-step backwards and glowered fiercely at the Auror, silently letting him know that if he wanted Remus and Sirius to come quietly, he’d best give them some information first.

Whorle sneered as he said, “You’re not really in a position to make demands, are you?” He stepped so close to Remus that he didn’t want to look Whorle in the eye for fear of looking cross-eyed, but forced himself to do so anyway.  “If I were you, I’d watch my tone, wolf.”   

Caught up in his fury, Remus spat in Whorle’s face and although he didn’t see it because he refused to be the one to break eye contact, Sirius had looked quite proud for a moment.  The next second, though, the right side of Remus’s face was stinging where Whorle had slapped him hard for his disobedience. He staggered, but did not fall.

“Suffice it to say the Ministry feels they’re reviewed the past week’s…events accordingly,” he explained with a triumphant gleam in his eyes that made Remus’s stomach feel as though it were full of rock cakes.  “The Minister as well as the Wizengamot see no reason to keep you here any longer.”

Remus and Sirius shared a furtive glance.

“That’s it?” Remus asked, desperate for more information; Whorle had purposely answered vaguely and although Remus couldn’t tell if what he’d said meant they’d be walking free or headed for the dementors, he could venture a solemn guess as to which option it was. Whorle said nothing as he and Herring each took one of Remus’s arms in a bruising grip.  Abbey restrained Sirius the same way, and Sirius seemed to have lost all will to even struggle.

“ _Oculus obscura_ ,” came two simultaneous voices as Abbey and Herring raised their wands.  Remus felt his heart leap painfully with the casting of the spell; his vision had gone pitch black.  He couldn’t see a thing, and he could tell from Sirius’s frightened shout that the latter was in the same situation.  

“No,” Remus whispered in horror as he began to piece together what was going on.  He’d read about this years ago, when he spent every waking and sleeping moment thinking about what he’d thought Sirius had done and learning about Azkaban and magical criminology.  It was common practice to blind criminals before they were Kissed; some books said it was an act of mercy because it allowed those sentenced to choose what to see in their mind’s eye as a last “vision” instead of seeing a dementor coming for them.  The more honest volumes, though, made it clear that the only reason for the spell was because without eyesight, criminals’ fear would become even more tangible—and therefore more enjoyable—for the dementors. 

“Moony—!” Sirius called out and Remus whipped his head towards the sound of Sirius’s voice, then winced when he heard a thud and a groan.  Still, Sirius had found his voice with the loss of his sight and called out to Remus again, his voice further down the corridor this time.  

“SIRIUS!” Remus shouted back; he frantically fought against Whorle and Herring’s grasp, desperate to escape.  Even if he couldn’t see, even if they caught him a moment later and his and Sirius’s fate was the same, Remus was convinced that if he could just get to Sirius, find him, touch him to make sure he was still there, that somehow things would be okay. 

Remus didn’t know which Auror cast the Cruciatus Curse, but he felt someone’s wand poking the small of his back, and the next second he was overcome by searing pain lashing at his back and sides and burning through his entire body as he fell to the stone floor.   The agony reduced him to a twitching heap on the ground and he was painfully reminded of his transformations in the months after visiting Azkaban—he would have done nearly anything to stop that pain, and the Cruciatus Curse was scarcely different.

“Don’t hurt him!” Remus dimly heard Sirius’s raspy voice through the fog of his pain; it was strained and full of emotion as it echoed through the hall as if he’d been shouting for hours instead of mere moments.  “Please, he didn’t do anything, it was m—”

“Stop talking!” Remus gasped suddenly, still writhing on the ground as the curse wore off.  “They’ll—they’ll take it as a—a confession,” he breathed heavily, looking towards where he hoped Sirius was standing.  Though neither of them could see, Remus felt some kind of wave of mutual understanding pass between Sirius and himself, and he wondered if he thought hard enough at him, that maybe Sirius would be able to hear everything Remus couldn’t say out loud.

“Follow your own advice and shut it,” growled Whorle as he raised his wand again.  “Cru—”

“Cassius, enough!” barked a crisp, curt voice somewhere down the corridor.  “Finite Incantatem,” its owner said at a normal volume this time, and slowly, Remus began to make out blurry, dark shapes again as his vision returned.

Still reeling from both the slap and the Unforgivable Curse, Remus blinked several times at a witch who had just emerged from the shadows; she, too, wore an Auror’s badge on her collar, but unlike the three men who seemed to boast their lapels, she appeared subdued and professional.  Next to her, the burly trio seemed less like Ministry employees and more like henchmen. The female Auror looked to be in her sixties and marched up to the group with grim purpose.

“We do not use Unforgivable Curses for such mundane matters as restraint,” she said vehemently, and her green eyes never wandered from Whorle’s face as she reprimanded him.  “Abbey, Herring.  _Whorle_ ,” she said, particularly emphasizing the last name, “unless you’d like me to resubmit my weekly report to your superiors including what I just saw, you’ll release these two at once.  There will be no Kiss performed today.” 

Whorle looked no less threatening, but he glanced over at the female Auror with unhappy surprise.  He opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it when she shot him a look that dared him to question her authority. The three men reluctantly let go of Sirius and Remus as roughly as possible; Sirius let out a whimper and crumpled to the floor out of pure relief and Remus immediately scrambled to his side, where he remained until he could steady Sirius enough to help him get to his feet again.

“Miranda Rolands, Senior Advisor to the Head of the Auror Office,” the witch said in the same coldly professional tone.  She was taller than both Remus and Sirius and her smooth face betrayed nothing as she stood before them.  

“Thank you,” Remus said sincerely, but Rolands shook her head.

“No, don’t do that yet.” She turned to face the three Aurors. “You’re dismissed.”

Once they had gone, sneering the whole way, Rolands fixed her attention back on Remus and Sirius.  

“There will be no Kiss today,” she repeated, “but you must still come with me.”

The color had returned to Sirius’s face and he stood up a little straighter as he said, “we’re not going anywhere until you tell us where we’re going to.”  He looked at Rolands haughtily; he was grateful that she’d arrived when she did, but he wasn’t as quick as Remus was to thank her, much less trust her.

“Spoken like a true Gryffindor,” Rolands said with a forced smile, and Sirius was taken aback.  He was so used to his only recognition being that of his notoriety and family history that to hear someone other than Remus talk to him with even a shred of decency or respect felt almost uncomfortable.

“Alright, then. You’re to come with me to the bottom floor, yes, Mr. Lupin, the dungeons,” Rolands said as she noted Remus’s widened eyes.

“What’s down there?” Sirius asked Remus warily.

“Courtrooms,” Remus breathed, hardly daring to believe it. Rolands nodded curtly.

“There you’ll meet with a Ministry-appointed lawyer to prepare your defense. It seems the two of you have got a friend in the Ministry, after all,” she said, and Remus saw the ghost of a smile tickle her face, almost like she was happy for them.  Her eyes darted from Remus to Sirius and back again as she took in their expressions of shock and, finally, hope. “Unless you’d rather stay here, of course.” 

* * *

When they reached the dungeons, Remus wished he’d appreciated the walk a little more—since it was Rolands escorting them and since there was no need to traipse through the center of the Ministry to get from the cells to the dungeons, they’d been permitted to walk without handcuffs, chains, or even a Tongue-Tying Jinx to prevent them from calling out to anyone.  Once seated in what looked suspiciously like an interrogation room, though, Rolands had conjured ropes out of thin air that twisted themselves into all sorts of knots and tied Remus and Sirius’s ankles right to their chairs and their wrists together.

The heavy iron door clanged shut as Rolands left, and finally Remus and Sirius could take a moment to catch their breath.  The room was small, maybe three by five meters, and only slightly more well-lit than the holding cells.  In the center was an ornate wooden table littered with broken quills and covered in ink stains; a platter of biscuits and jam sat in the middle, just out of reach. 

“Alright, Moony?” Sirius said to break the silence, and Remus nodded.  “I need to hear you say it.”

“I’m okay,” he replied and turned his head to look at Sirius.  When their eyes met, a thousand words passed through the small space between them: words unsaid, words repeated, a million questions and apologies, truths and earnest longings all exchanged through nothing more than a deep, overwhelmingly confessional gaze. Sirius managed to scoot his chair close enough to Remus that their shoulders nearly touched, and they both leaned in, their foreheads pressed against each other.  

Sirius cursed the ropes binding his hands, for he wanted nothing more than to be able to touch Remus, to pull him close and hold his face in his hands.  Sirius wanted to tell him that he’d heard what Mary said the night she came to the cell and that it was  _okay,_  it was all so much more than okay.  His heart ached, yearning to spill itself onto his sleeve and say everything that should have been said much sooner.  _It’s okay, I heard, I heard…I love you too._

He was whispering those very words inaudibly under his breath without realizing it as they touched each other the only way they could, and then Sirius was kissing Remus’s face—his lips brushed over Remus’s right cheek, rough after nearly a week without shaving, and they lingered there before making their way over the bridge of his nose.  He pressed another soft, tentative kiss on Remus’s left temple then let his chin rest on Remus’s shoulder, their cheeks touching. 

“I thought that was it, back there,” he said quietly as Remus’s eyes fluttered shut and his chest rose and fell with each fervent breath.  

“Padfoot, I—I should tell you—,” Remus began, and Sirius’s breath caught in his chest; this was it! He pulled back for only a moment to look Remus in the eye and prepared himself to hear the three words he already knew must be on the tip of Remus’s tongue, just a breath away from ghosting across his lips.  Sirius ached with jealously of those unspoken words and longed to be in their place.

“Mary came to my cell and she said…well, she said a lot of things,” Remus said nervously.  “Some of it was shite and some was true, but, point is, I—” Just Remus was about to confess what he’d felt for so long, though, a small door on the other side of the room swung open and the two sprung apart. 

A squat wizard wearing inappropriately bright turquoise robes had entered the room, followed by a scroll of parchment and a quill that bobbed in midair behind him.  His expression didn’t match his garb; he looked tired and meek, and his face seemed slack and worn as if it had aged faster than the rest of his body.  The wizard sat at the wooden desk without looking at either Sirius or Remus, and began mumbling something to the quill, which began scribbling furiously over his shoulder. Remus craned his neck forward to try and hear what this strange little man was saying and was able to catch a couple of words—“recently incarcerated,” “Lupin,” “Azkaban,” “difficult”—but he couldn’t discern how those fragments fit into any longer dictation.

Remus glanced at Sirius, who cocked his head towards the parchment; it had folded over a bit in the air as the quill got further and further down the page, and Sirius’s nod brought Remus’s attention to a small, octagonal, plum-colored clump of wax in the upper left-hand corner of the scroll. It looked like some kind of judicial seal.

Ten minutes passed before the wizard looked up; when he did, he nearly jumped a foot and gasped. He didn’t seem to have realized Sirius and Remus were even there, and he clapped a hand over his heart while he tried to regain his composure.

“I see Rolands has—has already brought you in,” he squeaked.  “Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black, it’s a pleasure, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Sirius looked at Remus with mixed confusion and amusement, but Remus wasn’t so tickled by the wizard’s eccentricity.  He was fairly certain this man was, as Rolands said, a lawyer appointed by the Ministry.  So far, Remus was anything but impressed.  If this man was their only hope of getting cleared of any charges, their chances looked pretty bleak.

“Augustus Justemesus Portmanteau,” the wizard squeaked as he extended his hand in greeting.  Realizing a moment later that neither of his clients could shake hands due to their binds, he lowered his hand awkwardly and the tips of his oversized ears turned pink.  “I’m a Wizengamot-appointed lawyer, here to defend you both to the best of my ability from this moment until the moment of the verdict,” he said in a rush, sounding like he’d said the same words a thousand times to a thousand other magical criminals.  “Oh, ah— _Evanesco_!” 

The ropes binding Sirius and Remus vanished, but Portmanteau did not make another attempt to shake hands.

“You’re a public defender?” Remus asked dubiously as he rubbed his wrists until he regained feeling in his hands.

“I-In Muggle terms, yes,” Portmanteau said nervously.  “but I’d like to think I’ve got more expertise than that lot.  The Wizarding court system is far more advanced and fair, you know.”

Sirius snorted to Remus’s right.  Remus couldn’t blame him.

“I understand you probably hoped for better, but to be frank, not many of us exactly leapt at the chance to defend Sirius Black and a werew—a-and you, Mr. Lupin,” Portmanteau corrected with an unconvincingly gracious nod.  “But I do like a challenge.”

He whipped out a leather-bound folder from the depths of his robes and on cue, the parchment fell from midair and spread itself out neatly on top.

“Got to take what we can get, I suppose,” Sirius whispered glumly.

“Excuse me, sir,” Remus said, “How many cases have you had?”

Portmanteau looked a bit dumbfounded and quite literally began counting on his fingers.

“Ten, give or take a few?”

“How many have you won?” Remus asked bluntly.  It was better to know their legal prognosis from the outset.

“F-four?  No! —Five.  Yes, five cases.  Five cases.”

Remus knew that Portmanteau was far better than the alternative of the Kiss, but he didn’t see how going into a trial with a lawyer that the Wizengamot itself had assigned them would be any more productive than sitting in the holding cell. With no witnesses or even anyone to speak on their behalf, a trial seemed more like a torturous tease than actual due process, and Remus already felt humiliated. What could Portmanteau possibly do to convince a majority of both their innocence?

“And I have to be honest with you,” Portmanteau continued as he shuffled through the folder and finally pulled out a particularly aged looking piece of parchment, “Of all my clientele, you two are easily the toughest.  I thought for such a high-profile wizard such as yourself—” he nodded at Sirius, “—they might employ one of the senior defenders…erm, regardless, winning this case won’t be easy, but as they say, we’ve got to take Sir Cadogan’s pony.”

“Sorry?” Sirius said, not sure he’d heard right. 

“Erm…” Portmanteau looked embarrassed and a bit upset that neither Remus nor Sirius had understood his phrasing.  “It means we’ve got to make the best of a tough situation.” 

Sirius leaned in to whisper near Remus’s ear, “that’s an understatement, innit?” 

“N-now, Mr. Black, convincing the jury to rescind your prior conviction is going to be our biggest challenge, so we’ll work on your statement first.  I’m positive the Chief Warlock will certainly want both of you in the chair for your statements, a-and the questioning.  Do you have any idea what you’d like to say?”

“There’s a lot I’d like to say,” Sirius said through gritted teeth.  He was staring at the stone wall behind Portmanteau as if the wizard wasn’t even there.

“Mr. Black, please—”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe let’s start with how I  _didn’t do anything_.”

Remus wanted so shake a little sense into Sirius—he understood why Sirius was angry, but their already slim chances of a favorable verdict were fading with every second Sirius spent being stoic and uncooperative.

“Anything more, ah, more specific?”  

Sirius looked over at Remus again, who was giving him an expression as if to tell Sirius this part was on him.  He would, after all, have to advocate for himself once he sat in that chair, and seeing as that was what he never got the chance to do years earlier, Remus hoped Sirius would recognize this trial as the blessing in disguise that it actually was.

Sirius took a deep breath.

“I want to say that I’m innocent.  That they owe me years of my life, that the entire judiciary failed me, that it was someone else and I know exactly who…but they won’t care.  They’ll hear, but they won’t listen, I know it.  There’s nothing I can say that I haven’t already said.”

“Said to me, yes,” Portmanteau replied, his voice steady for the first time since entering the room, “but not to the Wizengamot.  Think, Mr. Black.  What do you want to tell the jury now, the jury you didn’t get when you needed it most? How are you going to change their minds?”

Remus and Sirius were both surprised by their lawyer’s sudden change in tone.  He sounded professional and confident now, like he’d had some breakthrough epiphany and was finally starting to believe, for the first time, that maybe this time his client wouldn’t end up behind bars—or worse.

Sirius slumped against the back of his chair, trying to sort through the painful memories swirling across the front of his brain like a stormy slideshow of recollection.  How could he take that kind of visceral pain and turn it into something resembling a coherent statement?  His first instinct was to yell, scream, and shout until his throat was raw and his voice too exhausted to continue, but doing so would only further cement the Wizengamot’s perception of him as a raving lunatic. Yet he couldn’t be passive, either; taking the heat and the questioning without any kind of resistance would only show that he’d already given up, and that being sentenced to the Kiss would just put him out of his misery.  No, Sirius decided, he couldn’t go down without a fight.  He just had to figure out his strategy.

“So I’m speaking first, and then Sirius?”

Hearing his name yanked Sirius out of his plotting; Remus was sitting with his back hunched over and his elbows on his knees, looking very perplexed as he pressed his palms together, his thumbs under his chin.

“That’s right,” Portmanteau said.

“Why?”

“Your charges are less severe,” the lawyer replied as he licked his index finger and flipped through more pages of parchment.  “Ah, see here—Remus John Lupin, charged with conspiracy against the Ministry, treason, and aiding prisoner escape from Azkaban,” he read, “and it says here, special consideration to be taken of the defendant’s status as a werewolf.”

Remus sat back in his chair violently and brought his fist down on his thigh in anger.  Never mind the other untrue charges, going on trial for a condition?  That was absurd, not to mention morally degrading and illegal in every sense of the word Remus could think of.

“And mine?” Sirius asked. 

“Sirius Orion Black, charged with conspiracy against the Ministry, treason, one count of aggravated assault, one count of murder in the second degree for the murder of one Peter Pettigrew, and 12 counts of voluntary manslaughter. Special consideration to be taken of the fact that 12 of the victims were Muggles, which is a severe breach of International Wizarding Law, Section Five, subsection 18.” 

“They can’t just recycle old charges!” Sirius exploded.

“They can and they will, which is why I need you to  _work with me_  to put together a proper defense,” Portmanteau stressed. Sirius slumped again and Remus was at a loss for words—the Wizengamot had accused both of them of seemingly everything under the sun, and he simply couldn’t see a way to get out of this deep a hole.  Remus and Sirius exchanged another long look. 

“And how long, exactly, do we have to do that?” Remus asked, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer.

Sirius nodded. “Yeah, when’s the trial?” 

Portmanteau’s beady eyes flickered between Remus and Sirius for what felt like an unnecessarily long time before he finally answered them, not in his newfound professional voice, but back in his quavering, shaky one.

“Tomorrow morning.”

* * *

**Hope y'all liked that!! If you did, please please please leave kudos or a comment if you really want to make my day! Thanks so much for all the support as always and I hope to have the next chapter up soon!!**

**-C**


	14. Gavel and Chain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!! I had an awfully busy semester but I hope you guys think this is worth the wait! Chapter 15 will be up later this week :)

**Ministry of Magic**

**Wizengamot Courtroom**

**July 4, 1988.**

The first thing that struck Sirius about the corridor leading to the courtroom was, of all things, the pattern on the floor.  As he looked down at his feet and the shiny— _too_ shiny—shoes he’d been given to wear for the trial, all he could think about was that the mosaic of tiled shapes reminded him an awful lot of a tapestry on the seventh floor of Hogwarts.  It was a memory he didn’t even realize he still had, and he felt a jab of familiarity somewhere deep in his gut.  It was beginning to sink in that if he, Remus, and Portmanteau the lawyer—Merlin, if he could even qualify as that—couldn’t pull this off, Sirius might never see Hogwarts, let alone the light of day, again.

“Just remember what we discussed, and give your statement word for word,” came Portmanteau’s voice in Sirius’s ear.  It sounded like a faraway echo, and it wasn’t until Remus nudged Sirius in his side that Sirius snapped out of his trancelike state and nodded.

“Come on.  The chamber’s right through here.”

The trio had reached a tall, heavy wooden door guarded by two sets of ancient-looking armor.  The guards tailing the lawyer and his clients stood at attention while Portmanteau rapped his knuckles on it once, twice, thrice until it swung forward. 

Immediately, Sirius doubled over; nearly fifty dementors were swirling high above the circular courtroom.  Despite four different Patronuses stationed around the room and constantly pulsing their light upwards, Sirius could still feel dread and pain clawing at him and enveloping his body. 

“Keep it together, Padfoot,” Remus whispered and gripped Sirius’s forearm tightly.  He had been afraid there might be a dementor presence…as if it wouldn’t be hard enough to keep their wits about them already. 

The high rows of chairs were teeming with Ministry officials, members of the Wizengamot, press, and even members of the Wizarding community who had bought their way in to watch what was shaping up to be the most talked about trial since Dilys the Deviant tortured six witches in broad daylight. 

“You. There,” ordered a very gruff-looking Auror.  He pushed Remus and Sirius towards a table in the back of the courtroom.  There was a singular armchair in the center of the vestibule; chains hung threateningly from its sides and Sirius felt his stomach sink even lower.  

“Moony, I can’t, not with dementors here,” Sirius said once they were seated, his voice hardly above a croak. “Portmanteau,” he said desperately, facing the lawyer.  “Can’t you have someone take them away?  They—they get to me, even with the Patronuses, please,” Sirius begged. 

Portmanteau shook his head.  “I expect that’s exactly why they’re here in the first place.” 

Sirius set his jaw.  “Moony—”

“I know,” said Remus shortly.  “We’ll…it’ll work out.” 

“You always were a bloody awful liar,” Sirius said with a weak attempt at a laugh.

Portmanteau leaned in close for one last piece of guidance before the trial began.  

“Minister Bagnold will be presiding today; they’ve just confirmed it.” 

“The Minister?!” Remus yelped.  The Chief Warlock’s chair was still vacant, and he had been wondering who would be presiding. 

“She’s fair.  Tough, but fair.” 

“ _Fair?_ That bitch put me in Azkaban in the first place,” Sirius growled; his knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the sides of his chair. Portmanteau blanched; apparently he hadn’t considered that. 

“Ah, yes, well—then she’s familiar with your case, Mr. Black.”

“Be glad it’s not Minchum,” Remus reminded Sirius.  Bagnold’s predecessor was as tough as they came; he’d increased the number of dementors in Azkaban and was all but married to the law.

“They’ve got all the evidence they could find,” Portmanteau continued, “so they’ll be looking for slip-ups on your part more than anything.  And word has it the public’s not all against you, only…only most of it.” 

“Comforting,” said Remus dryly. Portmanteau wiped his brow with the sleeve of his robes.

“Just remember not to—” 

“All rise,” boomed a voice from the front, accompanied by the vicious crack of a gavel.  Whatever Portmanteau wanted Sirius and Remus to remember was lost in the resounding screech of wood on wood as the hundreds of wizards and witches all rose from their seats. 

Millicent Bagnold, the Minister of Magic, entered the room from a doorway at the back of the seating area and took her seat with all the poised power one would expect from the leader of the magical community.  She shuffled a stack of parchment on the lectern in front of her, adjusted her bulbous hat, and after a disgruntled glance upwards at the horde of dementors, added her own Patronus to the mix.  Remus heard Sirius let out a relieved sigh next to him; the added charm must have made somewhat of a difference.

With another crack that made Portmanteau jump, the crowd sat once more.  Minister Bagnold cleared her throat. 

“So it shall be that on this day, July the fourth, 1988, the Wizengamot shall conduct trials following offenses committed by Mr. Remus John Lupin and Mr. Sirius Orion Black.  Interrogators are myself—Minister Millicent Bagnold—Senior Undersecretary to the Minister Harmony Burbage, and Harkin Pheasantsby of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.  The Ministry first calls Remus John Lupin.”

With a deep breath, Remus stood and crossed the floor to sit in the chained armchair.  Hesitantly, he sat, and immediately the chains bound him to the stiff cushions, though not so tightly that he couldn’t move.

“The charges against the accused are as follows,” Bagnold continued. “That Mr. Lupin knowingly aided and allied himself with an escaped criminal, and in doing so committed voluntary treason against the Ministry of Magic.  Furthermore, that the accused, in full knowledge of his status as a werewolf, transformed in public, thereby endangering the surrounding community.  Do you deny these charges?” 

Remus’s heart was pounding out of his chest, and it took him nearly a full ten seconds to collect himself.  They’d agreed that, risky though it was, they could build a more powerful defense if they pleaded not guilty—keep it simple, Portmanteau said.  But there was really no way to do that. 

“It’s not that simple,” Remus said finally.  “I did transform in, well I suppose you could call it public, but it was a designated area I’ve been traveling to for years ever since I left Hogwarts.  I put up protective spells where I needed them, and the area was fifty miles from the nearest village.” 

Portmanteau raised a hand from the table and got to his feet.  

“Minister, my client’s condition is not illegal, merely unfortunate.  Mr. Lupin takes every necessary precaution with his monthly transformations and frankly, I don’t see the relevance of these charges.” 

“Mr. Pheasantsby?” The Minister turned to the representative from the magical creatures department.  

“Mr. Portmanteau is correct.  While Mr. Lupin’s lycanthropy can feasibly make him a danger to others, there is no evidence in this case that he was.  Was anyone with you when you underwent this last transformation?”

Remus hesitated; technically, Sirius had accompanied him on the journey, but was never in his human form when the full moon was out.  Nevertheless, Remus could not reveal that Sirius was an unregistered Animagus.

“No, sir,” he said slowly. “There were no humans present at any time that I was, erm, not myself.” 

Pheasantsby nodded, looking satisfied, and to Remus’s surprise, so did the Minister. 

“Very well, the Wizengamot will deliberate.  However, on the matter of Sirius Black—we have here written testimonies from Horatio Lutz of the Magical Corrections Office and Miriam Twill from the Visitation Department, who both confirmed that you sought out and were granted permission to visit Azkaban prison in March of this year.  Shortly thereafter, Sirius Black escaped, and consequently, he was apprehended in your flat. Do you deny it?” 

“No—I did help him.  But only once he escaped!” The courtroom was buzzing, but Bagnold slammed her gavel and quiet reigned once more. 

“Continue, Mr. Lupin.  When did you first make contact with Sirius Black?” 

“I was working my regular hours at Florean Fortescue’s parlor when I thought I saw him out on the street.  I followed him, it _was_ him, and I let him stay with me in my flat.” 

“But that wasn’t the first time you spoke with him since his arrest.” 

“Like you just said, I visited him in Azkaban a few months before that day in Diagon Alley.  I was so angry, you see, at what happened the night James and Lily Potter died, that I wanted to see him suffering for his crimes.” 

“So you admit that he’s guilty?”

“No!” Remus said frantically.  “He escaped Azkaban, that much is true, but I didn’t help him do it, and he isn’t a criminal.”

“And how do you know that?”

“You should have photo evidence,” Remus said nervously.  The previous night, an Auror had come in to tell Remus, Sirius, and Portmanteau that photo that Remus knew to be one of Peter in Godric’s Hollow had been passed up the chain to be used in the trial.  Remus was too tried at the time to ask any questions and merely accepted the statement as fact.  It was now dawning on him that he hadn’t seen the photos since he was searched upon their arrival to the Ministry.  This time, they hadn’t escaped discovery and had been taken.  There may not be any real truth to the Auror’s words at all.  Remus held his breath and prayed; the photo of Peter in Godric’s Hollow was his and Sirius’s only concrete proof, but Minister Bagnold was riffling through her papers, looking confused.

“I have no pictures here.” 

“You—you don’t?  It’s of a baby on a broomstick, Harry Potter, when he was just an infant! They were supposed to give—” 

“Silence!” Bagnold shouted—the crowd had erupted into excited chatter at the mention of Harry’s name.  “If the defendant has no further argument, the Wizengamot calls its first witness, Mary Emerson Macdonald, to the stand.” 

Remus felt immediately dizzy.  “Mary?” he said in horror as a door opened to his right and Mary stepped out onto the floor. 

He hadn’t seen nor heard from Mary since she stopped by his holding cell.  The last words she’d said to him rang in his head like a warning bell, clanging against the insides of his head. _I think all along I might have been a little bit in love with you._ He could only watch in painful suspense as the Minister addressed Mary, who refused to even look over at where Remus was bound to his seat. 

“Ms. Macdonald, tell us what happened on July 1.”

Merlin, had it only been three days?  Remus was shocked; it seemed like a lifetime ago that he and Sirius were on their way back from the highlands.  Remus had been so livid with Sirius for Apparating to Privet Drive…if only he’d known that that may very well have been their last day of freedom together.  Mary drew a shaky breath and began to recount the events of the day the Aurors came to Remus’s apartment.  He was nearly shaking with anger; she’d given them up with a snap of her fingers.  If she truly loved him like she claimed she did, why would she do such a thing?

“I value my friends,” she said weakly; she was finishing up her statement.  “But I value the community, too.  I just think with the way it’s been torn apart since the war, I’m obligated to do whatever I need to in order to piece it back together.  James and Lily Potter were my friends too, and helping make sure there’s justice for them…that’s what matters in the end.  I knew Remus was hiding Black in his flat—I saw him there with my own eyes.  As much as it hurt to do it, I alerted the Auror Office and helped lead them to where I knew they would be.  I’m sorry,” she added after a pause, but since she was still looking straight ahead, he couldn’t be sure if it was meant for him.

“Minister,” Mary continued with a sudden coldness in her voice, “I know Sirius Black is guilty.  I know it as well as I know the halls of Hogwarts, where we all went to school together.  Just look at his family history; he’s as pureblood as they come and he’s no doubt got the mentality to go along.  He was just good at covering it up, just like he tried to cover up murdering Peter Pettigrew by blowing him up.  Just because none of us saw it coming doesn’t make his crimes false.  It just makes them worse.” 

“Thank you,” Bagnold said.  “If the defense has no further questions, you may leave the stand.” 

“I do have one question, actually,” Portmanteau said.  “Ms. Macdonald, did you or did you not lend Mr. Lupin the money to make his visit to Azkaban in the first place?” 

Mary’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as they darted back and forth from Portmanteau to the minister, who had raised her eyebrows so high they almost disappeared under her hair.  The confrontation rendered Mary unable to speak. 

“Ms. Macdonald?” 

Still, she said nothing.

“Mary,” Remus finally croaked, and she almost looked at him.

“I—yes, I lent him the money.  But I thought he was going to get closure!” she added quickly.  “If I’d known he was going to help Black escape, I wouldn’t have given him a single knut, I promise!” 

It sounded like every single member of the Wizengamot was scribbling notes madly on their scrolls of parchment, and out of the corner of his eye Remus could see a bright green quill zipping back and forth of its own accord as it wrote everything that Mary had said down onto a scroll of parchment that was floating in the air next to a very young, blonde reporter.

“Let the record show that this witness acknowledges funding Mr. Lupin’s visit with Mr. Black, and should hereby be considered an accessory to the very things she is condemning my clients for.  I consider her intentions unclear and I urge the Wizengamot to exercise caution when choosing whether or not to believe her testimony.  That is all,” Portmanteau said. 

“Very well.  Ms. Macdonald, you may leave the stand.  The Wizengamot calls Sirius Black forward.”

Before Remus could open his mouth to say something as Mary barreled past him, the chains relinquished their hold on him and he was forced to return to the table as Sirius got up for his turn to testify. 

* * *

Sirius felt a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach as he stared the Minister in the face.  As he did, the murmurs in the chamber faded away until all he was aware of was her piercing stare meeting his own.  The last time he’d seen the Minister, it had been the day the lock clicked shut on his cell in Azkaban, and he had no intentions of letting her decide his fate a second time. He walked as calmly as he could to the center of the room, but silently refused to sit. Bagnold seemed to realize this, and perhaps against her better judgment, she held up a hand to stop the guards from forcing Sirius down. 

“Opening remarks?” she asked him curtly; she gave him even less respect than she did Remus.

Sirius gulped, then took a slow breath and called on every bit of nerve he had left.

“I want to start by confessing to what I am guilty of, and that is that I did break out of Azkaban, otherwise I wouldn’t _be_ here.  You don’t need a whole damn trial to figure that one out.”

“Easy, Pads,” Remus whispered under his breath back at the table.

“And I admit I did it alone.  Rem—Mr. Lupin had nothing to do with that, so don’t even think about convicting him,” Sirius finished sharply.

The Minister nodded and scribbled something with her quill.  “Very well,” she said, “If you confess to escaping alone—”

“I do." 

“—Then we will drop those charges against Mr. Lupin, but the fact remains that he did help you after your escape, and for that the jury will still deliberate.  Now, Mr. Black, your charges.  The charges against the accused are as follows—” 

“That I murdered twelve Muggles in cold blood?” Sirius interrupted, without breaking his gaze.  His voice was level, cold.  The room fell deadly silent, as if the people there were afraid he’d kill them too if they made even a peep.  “That Peter Pettigrew’s dead because I blew him to pieces, right?”

Minister Bagnold set down her parchment. 

“It appears the defendant is fully aware of his crimes,” she said testily.

“I’m all too aware of _the_ crimes.  But they aren’t mine.”  Sirius resisted the urge to add that he _wished_ he’d killed Peter.

“Do you have any evidence to present to the Wizengamot?”

“No,” Sirius said.  “All I can give you is my word, but you knew that already.  There’s no physical proof I’m innocent, at least none you cared to obtain, apparently.  That’s why you could just chuck me into a cell when it happened, because you thought the only other suspect was dead. Guilty until proven innocent, is that the way you run things now?” 

The undersecretary spoke up.  

“We have sufficient proof that Peter Pettigrew died of wounds inflicted on October the 31st, 1981,” she said. 

“Oh, do you?” Sirius asked, feigning interest.  “What, his finger?  One single finger? Yes, I’m sure you’ve got it all wrapped up with a nice little bow, somewhere down in the archives.  Tell me, how does that prove anything other than that he can only count to nine on his hands?  I know there’s no proof that I’m not a murderer.  But there’s no proof that I am, either.”

Bagnold was staring at Sirius intently, one hand clenching her wand tightly.  She glanced to her left and right and Remus saw several members of the Wizengamot nod towards her in some silent agreement.

“The Wizengamot calls Augustus Justemesus Portmanteau forward.”

Portmanteau waddled forward and stood up straight.  “With permission, I’d like to ask the Wizengamot and my client a few questions.”

“Granted.”

“Minister, on October 31, 1981, the Auror Office dispatched nine Aurors to the scene of the crime in question, correct?  Were any of them able to recover the body of Peter Pettigrew?”

The Minister pursed her lips.  “They were not.  Only the bodies of the Muggles.” 

“And did any Auror recover the wand of either Peter Pettigrew _or_ Sirius Black?”

“Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt seized Black’s wand immediately upon arrival, and it was later destroyed on my orders.  Pettigrew’s was nowhere to be found and was assumed to have been destroyed by Black’s curse.”

“I see. Minister Bagnold—can you tell me the purpose of the spell ‘ _Priori Incantatem_?’ I think all of us here know that it is commonly used in cases of magical crime to identify perpetrators, but can you tell me exactly what this spell _does?_ ”

“Objection—relevance,” called out one of the Wizengamot, but Bagnold held up a hand and allowed the question

“ _Priori Incantatem_ is used to reveal the last act a witch or wizard performed with their wand; any witch or wizard above the O.W.L. level knows this.  Though I must agree with my colleague; what is the purpose of this question?”

Portmanteau ignored her.  

“Mr. Black,” He addressed Sirius, who was still standing, “At what point during the process of your incarceration did a Ministry official, guard or otherwise, perform this spell on _your_ wand?”

“They didn’t,” Sirius said through clenched teeth, his eyes still fixed on the Minister.  “And I haven’t used my wand in seven years, Minister, not since it was taken from me that night.”

Portmanteau then turned to address the rest of the Wizengamot.

“How, I wonder, can anyone say definitively that Mr. Black cast the curse that blew apart that street if no one took the time to gather the most concrete—and, might I add, the easiest—method of confirmation—his wand?” 

No one offered a response.

“Oi, Black was laughin’ when they got to ‘im!” One wizard then said from the public’s section. “’Oo would laugh at somethin’ like that if they weren’t the one who done it?” 

“And Pettigrew was nowhere to be found!” a witch with a very shrill voice added.

A chorus of assent rose from the seats, and Sirius winced as he heard a few people shouting things like “arrest the bastard!” and “give him the Kiss!”  He was losing, he knew it.  If he couldn’t convince a majority of the jurors soon, he and Remus were both done for. 

“I’d like to say something else,” Sirius said quietly after another moment.  This was the part he had been dreading: his statement.  The minister nodded and Sirius cast a sweeping glance across the courtroom before speaking.

“I first met James Potter when we were 11.  We sat in compartment seven on the Hogwarts Express and we were best friends before we even passed through Cambridge.  He was the first person I ever knew that I never had to worry about, and he was the first person I never had to fear.  We were right arses at school—I see a couple of you who I know went to Hogwarts same time as me, you know we were.  At the end of seventh year, I had three best friends, one of them was James, the other is sitting right back there,” he nodded towards Remus, “and the third was Peter Pettigrew.  We all found out at about the same time that James and Lily were—” he paused, feeling a bit sick as he formed his next words, “—were slated for murder. So they hid.  And only me and Dumbledore knew where.”

Sirius paused again to let the crowd work through what he’d just said.

“I know that doesn’t help my case.  If anything, it makes me look _more_ guilty, because you all know the story—that someone gave them up to Voldemort.”  The inevitable gasp that always accompanied You-Know-Who’s name rang through the room, which was exactly what Sirius wanted. 

“That’s right, I say his name.  Voldemort killed my best friend, James Potter, and his wife, Lily.  He almost killed their baby boy, and yet I still say his name because I will _not_ give him the satisfaction of scaring me into submission.  I won’t now, and I wouldn’t then.  He took everything from me the night he killed them.  I was 22, and I had just walked into my best friends’ home to find their bodies and their crying _child_ , and I knew it was the fault of someone we all trusted that it had happened in the first place.  Peter Pettigrew.” 

Sirius paused again, this time to control the angry shake in his voice. 

“He sold them to Voldemort, only Peter never had the courage to even say that name.  He, like many of you, had a lot at stake.  His family.  His reputation that he’d somehow built with Voldemort.  His life.  I know what you’re thinking—who’s the murderer, the boy with a whole life to lose or the one who had nothing left to live for?  I seem like the obvious choice, don’t I?  But it wasn’t me that ran away to save his own arse that night.  I got caught while he caused a diversion and ran, looking for any semblance of protection and safety after Voldemort’s downfall.  All the Death Eaters did; if I’m one of them, why didn’t I hide too?  If I’m a Death Eater,” Sirius said as he rolled up both his sleeves, “where’s my Dark Mark?  If I really were guilty, I would have run too, and I’d have to take that goddamn brand with me every step of the way.”

The crowd was so silent Remus swore he’d be able to hear a pin drop.

“The guilt I live with is not murder.  My crime is idiocy, nothing more. I convinced James and Lily to let Peter into the most crucially private parts of their lives, and he took advantage of that and betrayed them.  I didn’t kill Peter,” Sirius said with finality, “but he deserves to die for what he did.” 

The room exploded with noise after Sirius nodded to indicate he was finished, and he could feel the crack of the gavel in his bones as Bagnold rapped it against the desk once more until the crowd settled down.  He waited with bated breath as she rubbed her temples before finally speaking. 

“You said that you found James and Lily after they were killed in their home.” 

“Yes,” Sirius said thickly.  “I had a gut feeling something was wrong that night, so I went to Godric’s Hollow, but—” _It was too late_ , he finished in his head.  He couldn’t say it out loud. 

Bagnold sighed. 

“Compelling though your testimony is, Mr. Black, the fact remains that you have no one who can confirm that they saw you anywhere _except_ at the scene of the crime, and the only other man you say could have committed the atrocity which you were imprisoned for is dead.”

“He’s not dead!” Sirius roared, then shouted in pain as one of the chains on the chair actually lashed out at him and wrapped itself around his wrist.  

“Which, despite your insistence, you cannot actually prove!” Bagnold said loudly.  “Unless you can present a witness, this case is closed.”

On cue, the guards stationed around the courtroom descended on Sirius, who tried his best to stay free of their grasp until the gripped him too tightly for him to fight back, let alone budge.  Remus had also leapt to his feet and made to charge forward.

“Protego!” Portmanteau yelled, and Remus bounced off the shield that had sprung up between him and Sirius.

“Move!” Remus roared at the lawyer as he tried to break through the barrier, but Portmanteau stood his ground; a brawl would not help their chances.

“PLEASE!” Sirius cried at the Minister, who was already packing up her things.  A moment later and she and the others would leave—taking their Patronuses with them. “He’s _not dead,_ I swear it! I’ll drink Veritaserum, you can have my memories, anything!”

"I don’t think that will be necessary.”  The new voice that had spoken was calm, but it commanded silence from the room.  Remus whipped his head around to look at who had just entered, hardly daring to believe it. 

Slowly, as if they were all stuck in slow motion, everybody returned to their seats as Albus Dumbledore strode across the floor.

* * *

**Please let me know what you think with a comment or some kudos!! As always, thank you so much for reading!**

**-C**


	15. The Gamekeeper's Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 15!! I'm really excited about this chapter; I had a lot of fun writing it because it bounces between the past and present and I love a good flashback :D Please R&R and let me know what you think!
> 
> Oh -- and maybe grab some tissues, this chapter is very angsty :(

_**The Ministry of Magic** _

_**Wizengamot Courtroom** _

_**July 4, 1988**  _

Sirius was stunned, and the entire crowd as well as the courtroom itself seemed to be collectively holding its breath as Dumbledore entered the chamber.  

Remus felt a rush of mixed shock and fury; he hadn’t seen Dumbledore since he’d shouted the man out in his own office, and although their parting words had been about how only Remus could be the one to save Sirius, Remus couldn’t help but grimace at the sight of Dumbledore now. 

Of course _now_ he was willing to help—not when Sirius first escaped, not when they’d been captured, no. Only now that their fate was already all but sealed did Dumbledore even care to show face, let alone intervene.  However, when Dumbledore made eye contact with Remus and nodded, the latter returned the gesture and hoped that whatever Dumbledore had come to say was enough. 

Sirius, on the other hand, made no effort to hide his disgust.  Whether the twisted expression on his face was purposeful or involuntary, he looked nothing short of repulsed at Dumbledore’s presence.  The audacity, Sirius thought, of Dumbledore to come sauntering in nearly an hour after the start of the trial and completely unannounced, as if he hadn’t already known Sirius was innocent for years? It was enough to make the edges of Sirius’s vision go fuzzy. 

A small voice in Sirius’s head urged him to consider himself lucky Dumbledore had come at all, but Sirius shoved it forcefully away; he resisted reason, allowing himself to see only what he’d seen the last time he and the headmaster crossed paths: Albus Dumbledore, standing still and solemn, doing absolutely nothing as Aurors dragged Sirius away in chains. 

“Professor,” said Minister Bagnold, finally breaking the oppressive silence that had befallen the room.  “Forgive me, but why—?” 

“It appears the defense is not quite complete,” Dumbledore interrupted calmly.  Remus suspected Dumbledore was the only wizard alive who could get away with cutting off the Minister.  “I’ve come to fill in a few gaps, if you’d be so kind as to permit it.” 

The Minister glanced at her closest colleagues, who glanced back with looks that clearly said she should be the one making this call—she was the Minister, for Merlin’s sake! 

“Very well.  But so you know, as neither man accused can provide any witnesses or evidence, I’m afraid mere words, however astute I’m sure yours will be, will not sway the Wizengamot.  Nevertheless, you may state your name and proceed,” Bagnold said.  

“With pleasure!” Dumbledore chirped.  “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” 

Sirius was still rooted to where he stood in the center of the chamber, and jumped nearly a foot when Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and guided him discreetly back towards the table where Remus sat with Portmanteau, who looked slightly green. 

“What the bloody hell is he doing here?” Sirius whispered once he was seated.  He looked shaken, like he’d just been tossed around a good while by the Whomping Willow, and then hit with a Jellylegs Jinx. 

“Hopefully some good,” Remus answered.  He couldn’t help but wonder; if the photo of Peter had really been lost in the shuffle, what could Dumbledore possibly do? 

Bagnold cleared her throat.  “The Wizengamot recognizes Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Proceed.” 

“Thank you for that warm introduction, Minister.  As you stated, I am the current headmaster of Hogwarts, a position I have held for several decades and a position I held when the defendants were students.  Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were both valuable assets to Gryffindor house throughout their years at school and even afterwards in the fight against Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  Without some of their contributions to the cause I daresay the Wizarding community would have lost a great deal more people to Dark Magic.” 

“I am here today to offer my two sickles on the matter of the events of October 31, 1981,” Dumbledore continued.  “When I heard of Lily and James Potters’ deaths and of their son Harry’s miraculous survival, I immediately began making arrangements for Harry’s safety.  It was of utmost concern to me and it was imperative that I prioritized it.  I called upon a trusted friend and colleague of mine to go to Godric’s Hollow and retrieve the boy.” 

“Colleague?” The undersecretary piped up, sounding interested.  “Someone who works at Hogwarts, you mean?” 

Dumbledore nodded.  “Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.  I assigned him the task of retrieving Harry, no matter the cost.” 

“Why not go yourself, if you were so concerned for Harry Potter’s safety?” 

“I admit,” Dumbledore sighed, his eyes suddenly looking misty, “that I was afraid of what I might find.  What’s more, I had to alert my most trusted staff and make contact with other…essential personnel, to ensure the rumors I had heard of Lord Voldemort’s downfall were, in fact, accurate.” 

The same wizard who had jumped up to berate Sirius moments earlier got to his feet again.  

“Why’re we wastin’ time listening to this crackpot defend two murderin’ lunatics?!” He shouted. 

“A valid question, indeed,” Dumbledore replied as calmly as if he’d been asked what his favorite sweet was.  “And to answer, my good man, that would be because at least—” he did a quick head count of himself, Sirius, Remus, and Portmanteau—“four of us here seem to think maybe they aren’t lunatics at all.” 

The wizard turned bright red and sat back down, clearly disgruntled and mumbling under his breath.  The Minister returned to questioning Dumbledore. 

“At what point were you certain that Mr. Hagrid had accomplished the task you set him?  _Did_ he accomplish it?” 

“I hope you don’t mean to doubt Rubeus Hagrid’s capabilities, Minister,” Dumbledore said, the hint of a warning in his voice.  “I would trust him with my life, and I daresay that _had_ he failed, we would have heard about it long ago.” 

“Answer the question, Professor.” 

“Of course.” Dumbledore was pacing, and with a jolt, Sirius saw a memory flash before his eyes, of himself staring at the Marauder’s Map and watching Dumbledore do the exact same thing in his office, while James mimicked the headmaster’s wise steps with exaggerated bravado as he stomped around the boys’ dormitory. 

“I knew Hagrid would succeed, but I breathed a sigh of relief, I would say, at approximately midnight after the incident.  I was waiting for Hagrid at a predetermined location where we had arranged to transfer Harry to safety, when all of a sudden who should arrive but Rubeus Hagrid himself on an enormous, flying motorbike.” 

Sirius felt his stomach drop to his shoes. _His bike!_ His heart was hammering against his chest; he’d lent the motorbike to Hagrid that night; could that be enough evidence to convince the Wizengamot he had no part in the attack at Godric’s Hollow other than to help?  He realized a moment later that Remus had grasped his hand and was squeezing it so tightly it was starting to go numb. 

“A motorbike?” the Minister repeated, sounding unconvinced.  “A Muggle motorbike?” 

“Indeed,” Dumbledore nodded. “Although, I’m sure that to make it fly, its owner must have used a fair number of rather impressive enchantments.” 

Sirius’s mouth twitched, just a little.  _Twenty-nine, to be exact._  

“And you actually saw this vehicle?” 

“I did,” said Dumbledore with a serene smile. 

“Where in Merlin’s name did Mr. Hagrid find it?  Surely there are safer ways to transport an infant?!” 

Dumbledore nodded, his hands folded behind his back.  

“I think, Minister, that I am not the one most qualified to answer that question.  You asked if the defendants could produce any witnesses to the events of October 31.  You’ve just heard from me, but as it turns out—and I’m sure much to their surprise as well as yours—they can produce two.” 

The door in the back of the courtroom banged open again, and Remus noticed it was magically expanding to accommodate the size of the next entrant.  

As the man walked in, Sirius felt a cold feeling wash over him as if the Patronuses shielding them all from the Dementors above had just vanished.  It couldn’t be, could it?  Sirius hadn’t seen him since—well, he was the last person Sirius had really spoken to before his arrest, and the memories of that night were now creeping back to him like an invasive species. 

“’Ello, Minister,” said a man in a large, rather horrible fur suit. “I’m Rubeus Hagrid, I’m, er—witness for the defense.”

* * *

**_Godric’s Hollow_ **

**_October 31, 1981_**  

Sirius’s leg was tapping so hard the chair he was sitting in trembled with it; he had been on edge the whole night, but that was nothing new.  With the war on, Sirius told himself anyone who felt any semblance of comfort or normalcy wasn’t fighting hard enough.  It was getting late, but in habitual guard dog fashion, sleep was the last thing on Sirius’s mind.  He had just put away his bowl and spoon after a cereal dinner and now sat thinking about everything and nothing at the same time.  

The walls of his small flat felt colder, grayer, and even the sky seemed to hang heavy in the atmosphere.  Outside, he could hear the high-pitched peals of laughter as wizard children ran amok, trick-or-treating because after all, war or not, it _was_ Halloween.  

It always seemed silly to Sirius for magical children to celebrate a holiday that presented witches and wizards so inaccurately, but to each their own, he supposed. He’d left a bowl of Chocolate Frogs on his stoop with a “Take Some!” sign, but had turned off his porch light so no one felt tempted to knock. 

He couldn’t stop thinking of James, Lily, and Harry, and hoped to every deity he could think of that by next year, all this mess would be over.  Maybe then they could all go trick-or-treating themselves, and Harry could wear the snowy owl costume Sirius had gotten him, if it still fit by then.  Merlin, Harry was growing so fast! The feathery little suit was a gift meant for Harry’s first Halloween, but ever since the Potters had gone into hiding, even the most mundane errands like going to Diagon Alley were out of the question. 

Sirius hoped that, despite the mounting tension, James and his family were safe in Godric’s Hollow, maybe playing ghost with Harry and having their own little celebration. 

He began to doze off at the kitchen table, wand in hand, exhausted from spending six or more days of the week working closely with the Order during long nights at headquarters.  Day after day consisted of poring over owl reports of Dark goings-on and listening tirelessly to the radio, hoping he wouldn’t recognize any names of the missing. 

By the clock on the wall, it was a nearly eleven when Sirius was jolted awake not by a doorbell or a clap of thunder, but by a sick feeling in his stomach that was so sharp he thought someone had broken into his home and hit him with some kind of impedimentary hex.  It felt like he had taken a heavy pendulum swing straight to the abdomen, and it knocked the wind out of him. 

_Something’s not right,_ he thought, and felt a wave of fear pour down his body like ice cold water. 

_Something’s not right._  

Sirius knew it as surely as he knew his own name and his heart beat wildly, but he immediately leapt into action. That’s all he seemed to do nowadays: sense danger and get on his feet to face it.  In a choice between fight or flight, he’d choose fight every single time.  It was the only way to stay alive with Voldemort gaining more power with every passing second.

He prayed the uneasy feeling was just a feeling, but he had to know, so mere seconds later he had already mounted his motorbike and torn off to Godric’s Hollow, shaking so badly he was afraid he might drop his wand mid-flight.  

He landed outside the Potters’ garden gate, and his knees nearly buckled when he dismounted, though not from impact.  To his horror, he could smell singed wood and sulfur, as if there had been some kind of explosion.  Looking around wildly, his eyes landed on the Potters’ cottage—what was left of it.  The upper level of one half of the cottage had been blown away, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. 

_He found them._  

Without fear for his own safety or of the house collapsing or that Voldemort may very well still be inside, Sirius ran towards the house and nearly broke down the down the door with his shoulder.  He choked back sobs as he tore through the rooms he’d been in, memorized, _laughed_ in so many times.  There were still pillows strewn across the living room floor; James must have built a fort for Harry like Sirius himself had done so many times.  A kettle—Lily’s nightly cup of tea—was still on the stove. 

_No._ Not James.  Not Lily, not Harry, no, they were supposed to be _safe,_ they were supposed to be _hidden!_

Sirius made it halfway to the stairs, moaning out loud, moaning no, _no,_ rambling, not making sense, and—suddenly, he had to catch himself on the railing.  He nearly tripped over something on the ground.  When he looked down at what caught his foot, it felt as though the whole world came crashing down.  

James was lying on the ground in front of him, eyes open but unseeing, his glasses askew and his legs bent at awkward angles.  His wand was nowhere to be seen. 

In that moment, Sirius forgot everything else.  He didn’t care that Lily and Harry might be upstairs, dead or worse, because his best friend, his _brother_ was not breathing.  He was not hopping up to say this was all a joke.  James Potter was dead. Sirius’s worst nightmare had come true and he knew nothing could possibly hurt more, not even the knowledge of how such a thing had happened, which hadn’t even begun to sink in yet. 

Sirius looked around frantically again, as if someone else might be seeing this too, sharing in his grief.  

“Help,” he called out weakly to people who could not hear, who didn’t even know that his whole world had just ended.  He fell to his knees and grasped James’s shoulder, openly sobbing as he tried to pull James to his chest, to shake him awake, anything.  His body was heavy in death.  Sirius tried once more to pull James up before simply falling forward and clinging to his best friend’s body. 

Suddenly, a crack of thunder startled Sirius into looking up, and the lightning illuminated the staircase enough that he could see a door hanging off its hinges on the second floor.  _No. No no no._  

He moved slowly, dreading what he feared he would find upstairs.  He gripped his wand tightly in one hand and the banister in the other; he wasn’t sure he would be able to stand without its support.  He knew that room. He helped paint it baby blue for a baby boy, and there were little hippogriffs dancing along the walls.  Barely able to see through his grief, Sirius stumbled upstairs to Harry’s nursery. 

His first thought, one he knew he’d hate himself for despite the fact he didn’t even intend to think it, was that Lily looked beautiful even like this.  Sirius let out a loud sob and then another, and soon enough he couldn’t stop, because who could ever want to _kill_ kind, gentle, loving Lily? 

With anger so hot it burned through his body like Fiendfyre, he knew he could answer that question.  He was blinded by white-hot hatred for the so-called Dark Lord and his followers, for those who never tried to fight him, and for himself for his role in it all.  Overcome, he collapsed again against Harry’s changing table and pulled Lily into his arms, stroking her hair because what else could he _do?_

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he heard a croaky voice saying, then realized it was his own.  It was all his fault for convincing them to switch Secret Keepers.  He’d kill Peter; he vowed it right in that second.  Sirius couldn’t think of a punishment horrible enough for someone who would sell his friends to a murderer as easily as he would sell an old textbook. 

But every thought of murder and vengeance vanished as soon as he heard a baby’s cry.  It was the kind of cry that physically hurt to hear, because he knew there was nothing he could do that would take the pain away.  Sirius’s head jerked up at the sound, and through the dust and rubble that filled the room he could see that somehow, miraculously, Harry’s crib was intact.  And Harry was sitting in it. 

“Oh my God,” Sirius rasped, frantically crawling over to the crib on all fours and stumbling a bit over discarded toys and piles of brick where the wall had been eviscerated.  “Harry, Jesus Christ, oh my God,” his voice broke on every other word, but he couldn’t stop spewing random exclamations.  He was shaking as he stood up and reached down to lift Harry from the dusty mattress.  Harry was bleeding from a jagged cut on his forehead and a little bit of blood had gotten on the sleeve of his blue onesie, but he seemed otherwise untouched. 

Sirius clung to him like a life preserver in a stormy sea, his heart constricting even more when Harry clung back just as tightly, howling in his ear, his tears wetting the shoulder of Sirius’s robes. 

“It-it’s okay,” Sirius said, although it was anything but.  “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” 

He shielded Harry’s eyes as he forced himself to walk back out into the hall.  With tears making tracks on his cheeks, he stooped to kiss Lily’s forehead–it was still warm–and tried to keep his composure when he had to step back over James.  

Sirius knew exactly how this would look.  He was James and Lily’s Secret Keeper, or so everyone would think when the news broke.  The only people who knew that wasn’t actually the case were dead, and Peter himself was long gone if he had a shred of sense.  If Sirius wasn’t a marked man before, surely he was now. 

Harry had stopped crying and, recognizing Sirius’s as a familiar embrace, had progressed to cooing into his godfather’s shoulder.  Sirius’s heart broke and swelled at the same time.   _I could do it_ , he thought in his desperation.  He could take Harry, right now, and run.  He could find Remus, explain everything, apologize… _yes_ , Sirius thought, _Moony will know what to do_. 

Just as he made it through the thick garden in front of the cottage, though, he heard footsteps approaching.  He tensed up immediately; it had to be the Aurors, many of them his own friends, who have no doubt been notified by now and are coming to collect him, the supposed traitor.  He would fight a thousand of them if that’s what it took to keep Harry in his arms, and he raised his wand arm at the ready.

* * *

 

_**The Ministry of Magic** _

_**Wizengamot Courtroom** _

_**July 4, 1988** _

The minister’s voice cut through the slew of painful memories Sirius was reliving not for the first time, but for the thousandth, because they were all he’d seen in Azkaban as well.  As soon as Hagrid had entered, all the memories from the last time Sirius had seen him came flooding back.

“Mr. Hagrid, per the recent developments in this case, you have been called to testify.  At the recommendation of Professor Dumbledore, the Wizengamot has agreed to hear your testimony.  In your own words, can you describe what happened the night of October 31, 1981?” 

“’Course, Minister,” said Hagrid gruffly.  “I was reading before I headed in for the night, I’d just gotten a new book on how ter tame a Blast-Ended Skrewt, see.  An’ then Professor Dumbledore came knocking, and he seemed in a righ’ state, so of course I asked ‘im what was wrong.  He didn’ say much, just gave me orders an’ I set off right away.” 

“What were those orders?” asked the Minister. 

“‘Retrieve Harry Potter from Godric’s Hollow immediately an’ bring him to me.  Don’ let anyone stop you,’” Hagrid recited.  “Remember ‘em clear as if it were yesterday.” 

“And where were you instructed to bring Harry Potter?” the undersecretary asked.  Bagnold and Dumbledore exchanged a knowing look. 

“The boy was relocated to a safe house, if you will,” said the Minister.  “As he is still protected there, it is of utmost importance he remains in complete safety.  Since this is a public trial, Mr. Hagrid is not obligated to disclose that information.”

“Very well,” said the undersecretary, and Remus and Sirius exchanged a furtive glance. “Continue, please, Mr. Hagrid.” 

“When I got there—” 

“Where is that?” 

“Godric’s Hollow, o’ course!” Hagrid exclaimed, sounding a bit affronted.  “It jus’ didn’t feel right.  I could feel myself getting’ goose bumps; it was like how the air still feels prickly after yeh’ve just seen someone cast a curse.  So of course, I start walking ter get Harry like I was told! I reckoned I’d knock and James or Lily would come ter the door—I figured they were in on the orders, too.  Course, at the time I didn’t know about any of the Secret-Keeper business, I just knew they were in hidin.’  Didn’ know about the charms an’ all, if I had, I woulda known summat was off if I could see the house, wouldn’ I?  But I didn’ think o’ that at the time, and when I got closer…” Hagrid trailed off. 

“Yes?” 

“M’sorry, Minister—when I got closer, I coul’ see how the place had jus’ been blown up, still smokin’ an’ all.  And that’s when I saw ‘im, too.” 

“Saw who?”

Hagrid raised one large, shaky finger and pointed it at Sirius.

* * *

**_Godric's Hollow_ **

**_October 31, 1981_**  

“Sirius? Sirius Black?” Hagrid called as he squinted into the darkness. 

“H-Hagrid?” Sirius stammered, hardly daring to believe it.  “Lumos,” he said, and a ball of light erupted from his wand.

“Crikey, yeh can put tha’ down!  I knew Dumbledore’d send you too, he mus’ wan’ us both t—blimey, what happened?” Hagrid’s eyes were as wide as saucers as he looked at Sirius, who looked like he had just battled an Acromantula or some equally powerful creature.  His eyes darted from Sirius, to Harry in his arms, and finally to the cottage behind them. 

Sirius blinked a few times before Hagrid’s question registered.  Suddenly, the entire gruesome reality sunk in.  James and Lily dead, Peter’s betrayal, Harry, somehow still alive…and that reality just about did Sirius in.

“James—James, he’s, and Lily—they, they’re inside, he was— _he_ found them, and I didn’t know, I didn’t _know_ —I didn’t _think—”_

“D’you mean to say—?” Hagrid’s voice broke too, and one miserable look from Sirius confirmed all his fears.  Sirius stumbled forward and Hagrid shot his hand out to catch him so he wouldn’t fall and take Harry down too.  He tried to keep his own emotion at bay, but it was impossible. 

Hagrid had hoped—so naively, he thought now—that Dumbledore wanted him to retrieve Harry just as an extra safety measure.  After all, five more Order members had gone missing in the last week, and two more were suspected to be under the Imperius Curse.  He thought that James and Lily had probably agreed, though not easily, knowing how protective they were of their son, to relocate Harry for a few days until the melee died down.  

Looking at the wreckage, though, Hagrid realized how horribly mistaken he was.  The reason for the orders was much, much worse, and he could feel hot tears the size of golf balls cascading down his cheeks and getting lost in his bushy beard.  What was left of the house was still smoldering and judging by Sirius’s fragmented words, Hagrid had a sick feeling he knew what had happened inside. 

“They’re gone, they’re gone,” Sirius was moaning over and over again; Harry started whimpering again too.

“You-Know-Who was…he was here?” 

Sirius nodded against Hagrid’s overcoat. 

“But then where is ’e now? Did you see ‘im?” 

Sirius pulled back finally and shook his head weakly, desperately.  He had no idea where Voldemort had gone.  “He’d already gone when I got here.” 

Both men’s eyes landed on Harry at the same time, and it was a moment before either of them spoke.

“Do you think he’s really gone?” Sirius said.  “I mean—he never leaves anyone behind.  He _wanted_ Harry, but…Harry’s alive.  He’s just a baby,” Sirius finished in a distraught whisper. 

“Codswallop,” said Hagrid warily.  “Much as I’d like ter think it.  But Sirius, abou’ Harry—” 

Sirius instinctively clutched the infant closer to his chest. 

“I’m taking him,” Sirius said firmly. 

“Dumbledore sent me ter bring Harry to him.  ‘E’s got it all worked out to get Harry somewhere safe, I can promise yeh that.” 

“No!” Sirius blurted out loudly.  “No, I’m his godfather!” 

“And yeh always will be.  But don’ yeh think Dumbledore knows what’s best for ‘im?” 

“ _I’m_ what’s best for him.” 

Hagrid patted Sirius on the shoulder; he could still see the tears in the young man’s eyes, but knew that as much as he would love to let Harry stay with the closest person he had to family, he couldn’t disobey Dumbledore.

“I’m not going ter force yeh to give him to me,” Hagrid said thickly, “but that’s what needs teh happen.” 

Sirius refused to take his eyes off Harry, but he swallowed hard as he adjusted the baby in his arms.  “These are Dumbledore’s direct orders?” 

“Indisputable ones, Sirius, m’sorry.” 

Sirius sniffed and wiped a bit of the dried blood off of Harry’s forehead.  Harry had started to doze off, but opened his eyes at his godfather’s touch and wrapped his hand around Sirius’s pinky. 

“Pa’foo,” Harry cooed softly, and Sirius had to choke back a sob as he leaned in and kissed Harry’s tiny fist ever so softly.  Without looking away from his godson, he addressed Hagrid pleadingly, his voice thick with tears.    

“Take my bike,” Sirius choked out.  “It’s faster.  Take it, get him out of here.” 

Hagrid nodded and after allowing Sirius and Harry to have one more moment, he gingerly lifted Harry from Sirius’s arms.  Harry fit in just one of Hagrid’s hands, and Hagrid very carefully transferred him to a small pouch that was secured to his chest.  Harry turned to nestle against Hagrid’s coat. 

“I love you,” Sirius told Harry softly, wishing he would turn around again so Sirius could see those green eyes one more time. 

Hagrid mounted the bike and nodded to Sirius before pulling a pair of goggles out of one of the many pockets in his coat.  All too quickly they took off and disappeared into the night sky in a puff of black exhaust from the tailpipe.

* * *

 

_**T** _ **he Ministry of Magic**

_**Wizengamot Courtroom** _

_**July 4, 1988** _

“Sirius Black…offered you the use of his motorbike?” 

“Yes ma’am, he did.  O’course, when I heard the news abou’ those Muggles and Peter Pettigrew, I fel’ like a traitor myself jus’ _using_ something that was his.  But when he escaped a coupla months back, Professor Dumbledore tol’ me he was innocent.  He explained it all, an’ Dumbledore’s word is good enough for me.”

“I don’t doubt that,” said Bagnold a bit condescendingly.  “But it remains to be seen if what we’ve heard is good enough for the Wizengamot.” 

“I know there were wizards who saw ‘im at the scene of the crime, Minister, but you wanted a witness who saw ‘im somewhere else that night too, an’ I did.  Looking back now, I don’ believe I was comforting a traitor.  I was comforting a man—boy, really—who’d jus’ lost his bes’ friends in the worst possible way, an’ you can have my memories too to see fer yourself if yeh’d like.” 

The courtroom was silent following Hagrid’s words, and when Remus looked over at Sirius, he could see the shine of freshly shed tears still lingering on his face.  From the looks on the faces of the public and the jury, Hagrid’s poignant recounting of the night James and Lily died and of his running into Sirius at Godric’s Hollow seemed to have cast a shadow of doubt of Sirius’s guilt over at least some of them. 

“I, for one, do not see sufficient evidence to allow either defendant to be cleared of their charges,” said the Minister.  “We will decide a verdict based on a majority vote of the Wizengamot members only, but I do not think it will take long,” she said ominously.

“If I may add one more thing,” Dumbledore said. 

“I think the council has reached a verdict already,” Minister Bagnold said dismissively. “Surely you know, Dumbledore, we cannot let two criminals walk free without any evidence of the contrary.  After all, poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots—”

“—And those that don’t poison never had any spots to begin with,” the headmaster interrupted smoothly.  “I acknowledge that neither the defendants, nor their lawyer, nor either witness has presented tangible evidence in this case.  However, should the Wizengamot have any doubt of Mr. Black’s innocence, there is one action they may want to take that I myself was incapable of doing.”

Sirius and Remus straightened up and glanced at each other with confusion, then fixed their attention on Dumbledore. 

“And what action might that be?” 

“While Hogwarts policy states that staff may confiscate any student’s personal belongings if they have a legitimate reason, we are not permitted to seize a student’s property when school is not in session.  However, if the Wizengamot would like concrete evidence of Mr. Black’s innocence, they may want to, what do the Muggles call it? Ah— _subpoena_ a certain rat belonging to a soon-to-be second year named Percy Weasley.  I think your examiners may find it is missing a toe.” 

The courtroom exploded and Sirius and Remus both leapt to their feet in shock. 

“He could have _led_ with that!” exclaimed Sirius angrily, but Remus could see that a bit of color had returned to his face. 

The Minister slammed the gavel down louder than she ever had before, and it took nearly a full minute to regain control of the courtroom.  Once quiet was restored, she and the undersecretary leaned close together; Sirius strained to hear what they were saying, but couldn’t make out a single word.  Then, Bagnold summoned one of the Aurors—Miranda Rolands, who had escorted Sirius and Remus.  Rolands walked up to the lectern and the Minister whispered something to her, all the while scribbling on a piece of parchment.  Bagnold signed the parchment with a flourish and Rolands left the courtroom, taking the scroll with her. 

“I want the record to show that while I stand by my doubts, the Wizengamot is obligated to investigate any evidence made readily available.”  The public section of the courtroom booed and jeered, but fell silent when the Minister raised her arm. 

“I have just sent Auror Miranda Rolands to Arthur Weasley’s office, with orders to accompany him back to his residence and obtain this…rat.  The Wizengamot will reconvene privately tomorrow to examine the evidence and reach a verdict.  In the meantime, Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black will be escorted back to their cells.”

Portmanteau looked aghast, but for Sirius and Remus, that they were heading back to the holding cells was the best news they’d heard since first arriving at the Ministry of Magic.  Sirius had expected to have been Kissed by now, but if Dumbledore was right about the Weasley boy’s rat and Rolands was able to get a hold of it—of _Peter_ —then sweet Merlin, they might actually make it out of this mess alive.

* * *

**Please leave a comment if you liked (or hated!) this chapter.  There are only two chapters left in this fic by the way; we're getting towards the end, and thank you all so much for sticking with me on this project that actually just turned a year old the other day! That is astounding to me; your support means the world and I love you all <3**

**-C**


	16. Reparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with this story! When I started writing it a year ago I never thought I would still be working on it now and I want to thank you all for your support and your patience! 
> 
> Also, though it hurts to say it, this is the second-to-last chapter of this fic. Only one more to go! PLEASE consider leaving me a comment with your predictions for the ending, your thoughts so far, or even just saying hi :) 
> 
> I love you all! 
> 
> -C

**Ministry of Magic Holding Cell**

**July 4, 1988**

“How long’s it been?” Sirius asked impatiently. 

“Only five minutes longer than the last time you asked me,” replied Remus, but he was feeling the burden of slowly passing time as well.  It hadn’t been long since they were led from the courtroom, and Remus hoped it wouldn’t take the Wizengamot much time to reach a (hopefully favorable) verdict if Rolands was able to bring Peter Pettigrew into custody.  Each second in the cell felt like a full day as Remus and Sirius pushed their ears to breaking point trying to listen for footsteps coming to deliver the verdict. 

“This must be a good sign, at least?” Sirius said, meaning the fact that they’d been put in the same holding cell this time.  Remus nodded to appease him, but he wasn’t entirely sure—it could be a convenience measure.  Just let one dementor into one cell and save everyone some time. 

If Remus had to guess, he reckoned it had been nearly three hours since they’d been escorted from the courtroom and Rolands sent to Arthur Weasley’s office.  By now she’d have debriefed him and obtained the rat—Peter—so it must be early evening.  With any luck, they’d know their fate by tomorrow morning, after the Wizengamot reconvened.  Sirius was less inclined to keep track of time, but his inquiries about how much longer they’d have to wait were like a schedule of their own. 

“Do you think they’ve got him?  Moony, Peter could be in this same building, right now.  D’you think they figured it out?” 

“I don’t know,” said Remus, trying to keep irritation from creeping into his voice.  He was plagued by the same questions, but knew they were unanswerable.  What was more, the only guard near their cell was all the way down at the end of the corridor out of sight and unable to give them any information even if he wanted to. 

Sirius sat down on the edge of his cot, but he was still anxiously tapping his foot and absentmindedly chewing on one fingernail.  

“I just want to know—” 

“Give it a rest, Padfoot, alright?” Remus interrupted, but he regretted the outburst as soon as it happened, because Sirius seemed to shrink.  Remus backtracked and crossed the room to sit beside Sirius.  “Sorry,” he said, his voice softer.  “I want to know too.  I want to know too,” he repeated to make sure Sirius heard him, and Sirius nodded, his eyes still fixed on a stain on the opposite wall. 

“Sorry I keep asking, I—” Sirius trailed off and Remus perked up; he sensed there was more. 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, just peachy!” said Sirius sarcastically.  “Look at our humble abode, our comfortable lodgings! Couldn’t be better.” 

“Sirius.” 

Sirius picked his head up at last and took a deep breath.  “What if they give us different sentences?  I mean, you’re here for treason and I’m accused of fucking _murder_.  What if they Kiss one of us and not the other? It’s illogical, but you know how the court can be.  And if it’s me, then so be it, because that makes sense, but if for some reason they let me go and you get the Kiss, Moony…I’m not going to make it through that.” 

Remus’s first thought was to tell Sirius he was being daft and dramatic.  First of all, if one of them were to be Kissed it would surely be Sirius, but Remus didn’t think that would be the most comforting thing to say just now.  What was more, Remus was certain their trial was an all or nothing deal. Either they’d both miraculously be set free, or they’d go down together.  But as Remus analyzed the expression on Sirius’s face, he could see that the fear, however irrational, was genuine.  He laid a hand on Sirius’s back, reconsidered, and wrapped his arm fully around Sirius’s shoulders. 

“I understand,” he replied, deciding that was the best answer.  “But say it does happen.  Or, say you get the Kiss and I don’t.  You think I’d have it any easier trying to make it through losing you?” Remus said quietly.  “I barely survived that the first time.” 

“Yeah, but I came back,” Sirius said with a slight laugh as he tried to make light of the conversation.  

“And look where that got us,” Remus teased back, and Sirius playfully shoved him with his shoulder.  

Sirius’s confession, though, had touched a nerve, and now Remus was forced to think what he would do if one or both of them was found guilty even after Dumbledore and Hagrid’s input.  For both men, losing the other would be catastrophic.  Remus flashed back to Christmas, what bits and pieces he could remember between the dismal nights spent drinking his memories away at the Leaky Cauldron; he knew such a relapse would be equally inevitable as it would be devastating.  If that’s what was in store for him alone, he couldn’t imagine the hell Sirius would go through if he had to face this trial’s aftermath by himself. 

So, seized by a sudden wave of urgency when Sirius finally turned his head to look Remus in the eye, Remus kissed him full on the mouth, and though even the immediate future was unpredictable, he had never been more sure about anything in his life. 

Sirius kissed back almost instantaneously and he couldn’t help the small noise that came from the back of his throat.  Their lips moved together as if speaking, but this conversation was wordless. Remus wasn’t sure when exactly his hands became tangled in Sirius’s hair, or when Sirius’s hand found its way to the front of Remus’s robes and began tugging at them, drawing him closer, but soon enough they were scrambling to touch one another everywhere they could.  Even though the locale seemed inappropriate and was definitely unideal, Remus was ecstatic. 

The signs that there might still be a spark had been there for weeks, but too much was at stake to really act on them and to address the years of separation and gray area that had grown over their lives like invasive weeds since Sirius was first arrested.  Even sequestered away in Remus’s flat, constant fear of being caught seldom left room for intimacy, and fleeting touches were like grains of rice on the plate of a hungry lion. 

Sirius caught Remus’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugged just hard enough that Remus gasped.  As his lips parted slightly Sirius leapt at the opportunity to push his tongue into Remus’s mouth, savoring the softness and the warmth.  It was clumsy yet natural and familiar but new.  Something they’d yearned for and finally gotten back, but now might have ripped away.  That thought only fueled their passion, and Sirius sent silent gratitude to whoever had posted their guard out of sight and earshot.  

As they got even more lost in each other, for once Remus felt grateful to be in the cell.  In a strange way it seemed to be on their side, allowing them privacy for even just a few hours’ peace.

* * *

The next morning dawned all too soon, and Sirius awoke with a start.  Remus woke soon after, and resumed his usual pacing while Sirius lounged on the cot with as content of as expression as he could muster on his prison-weary face.  With each moment spent awake, though, his comfort faded and in swept the sick feeling in his stomach as he remembered they would find out today whether they’d just spent their last night together.  With a groan, he sat up, then froze with all the look of a dog that’s just heard the rustle of a squirrel in the brush. 

“Someone’s coming,” he said tensely and sure enough, Remus could also hear footsteps too.  The sharp _clack-clack-clack_ of professional shoes on stone grew louder, and with each footfall the two men’s fate drew closer. 

It was the Minister of Magic, and Remus and Sirius leapt to their feet, hurriedly trying to make themselves look composed and put together.  The Minister glanced swiftly between the two of them and took in their disheveled appearances, but did not comment.  

“Well?” Sirius said finally, his throat feeling tight and constricted. 

Minister Bagnold reached into her pocket and pulled out a small scroll of parchment, which flew from her hand of its own accord and unfurled itself in midair.

“On this day, 5th July 1988 at nine-thirty-two in the morning, the Wizengamot, headed by myself, Minister Millicent Bagnold, hereby finds Mr. Remus John Lupin, who was accused of and charged with conspiracy against the Ministry, treason, and aiding prisoner escape from Azkaban…innocent of all charges,” she said, and then without pausing, she continued. 

“In the case of Mr. Sirius Orion Black, accused of conspiracy against the Ministry, treason, aggravated assault, murder in the second degree, voluntary manslaughter and evasion of the law, the Wizengamot,” she paused as if hardly believing the words herself even though she wrote them, “finds the accused innocent on all counts, save for evasion of the law, for which he will be charged a 750-galleon fine. 

“Regardless of your other crimes—rather, lack thereof, as it seems—breaking out of prison is still very much illegal, Mr. Black, and for that you will pay the fine,” Bagnold clarified. 

Remus and Sirius stared blankly at Bagnold for what felt like eons, and they were quite surprised that she was still standing there when Remus finally broke his silence to say, “Are you sure?”  

It was as anticlimactic a response as had been the Minister’s reading of the scroll. 

Bagnold raised one sharp eyebrow, looking almost amused.  “If you’d like me to take this back for reconsideration, I’m sure the Wizengamot would—” 

“NO!” both Remus and Sirius shouted, and Bagnold nodded curtly.   

“I thought not,” she said.  “As it turns out, that ‘rat’ was about as much a rat as I am a hippogriff.” 

“You found him?! You found Peter?” Sirius yelped. 

“To be fair, Mr. Black, it wasn’t very hard to do after Professor Dumbledore’s tip.  The Weasley boy was a bit distraught at having his, ah, ‘Scabbers’ wrenched away from him in the middle of the afternoon, but the Ministry has taken it upon itself to provide him with a new pet for the upcoming school year.” 

Remus’s mind was reeling and the gravity of the verdict still hadn’t quite hit him, but at the mention of Pettigrew, he jumped into the conversation.  

“Where is he now?  What’ll happen to him?  Can we—?” 

Bagnold held up her hand and Remus fell silent.  

“As one trial ends, another begins,” she answered.  “However, the evidence against Peter Pettigrew is quite convincing.  Off the record, Pettigrew’s trial is more of a formality than anything.” 

“Sorry if I don’t hold too much faith in the way the Wizengamot tries people, Minister.  And that can go very much _on_ the record,” Sirius said, and to all’s surprise, the Minister nodded, acknowledging the years of turmoil the Wizengamot had caused Sirius.  

“Can we see him?” Remus asked, his voice uncharacteristically cold. 

“No, not now,” Bagnold said.  “Although if you’d like, when it’s time for his trial, I can arrange for you both to be there to witness it.” 

Sirius nodded solemnly.  “I’d like that.  Moony?” 

Remus nodded as well. 

With a flick of her wand, the Minister then unlocked the cell door.  Two Aurors came down the hall to join her, but she explained that they were there simply to lead, not to restrain.  The Aurors walked Remus and Sirius down a long series of hallways, up at least five spindly staircases, and finally across a walkway that overlooked the Ministry atrium below.  From their vantage point, Remus and Sirius could see a throng of Daily Prophet reporters already queuing around where they supposed they’d eventually exit the building.  Before a formal release, however, they had to set all their affairs in order. 

The rest of the day passed in flashes—a formal interview with the Minister, the return of their personal items, more meetings, and a session with a Daily Prophet reporter to draft and approve their press statements.  It was all so wonderfully chaotic, and once Remus and Sirius had gotten used to the general air of awkward apology expressed by the Ministry officials, the process was a relief.  It continued well past dark, but for the first time in months, Remus and Sirius had a sleepless night due to jubilance rather than distress.  They were free. 

Only after signing all the proper documents with legally-binding quills and scheduling a private time to visit Ollivander’s shop for new wands did Remus and Sirius have a moment to catch their breath.  It was short-lived, however; they’d just been set up in a quite comfortable lounge and offered copious amount of biscuits, soup, and tea by a very excitable witch from the Legal Reparations Office, when the door opened once more and Dumbledore entered wearing a set of startlingly pink robes.

“Sir!” Remus said with polite surprise. 

“It’s nice to see you both in such a comfortable setting,” the headmaster observed.  “You’d be forgiven for thinking me intrusive, and I’m sure you’ve answered enough questions and met with enough folks today to last your whole lives, but I have some things I’d like to speak with you both about before we all turn in for a much-deserved night of sleep.  In short, let us chat.” 

Dumbledore crossed the room in three long strides and sat in a chaise armchair that was not-so-coincidentally closest to a spindly table above which hovered a crystal bowl of lemon drops. 

“We’ve already spoken to the Minister and the other warlocks of the Wizengamot,” Sirius said as he flopped unceremoniously down onto the first comfortable seat he’d had since arriving at the Ministry. He helped himself to some soup from the nearby cauldron.  “There’s a reporter from the paper drafting a tell-all for the front page tomorrow. What else is there to talk about?” he asked.

“Harry Potter,” said Dumbledore simply. “Unless you’d rather discuss the weather.  I hear it’s raining krups and knarls in Brixton.” 

“What about Harry?” said Sirius loudly and Remus with curiosity, in unison. 

“I thought you might like to know where he’s living,” said Dumbledore, and Sirius and Remus exchanged a look.  Thanks to their own knowledge of Lily’s family, their sleuthing, and Sirius’s reckless Disapparition to Privet Drive, they already knew. 

“We…we do know, sir,” said Remus sheepishly.

Dumbledore did not look surprised, he rather looked like he’d expected this answer.  “Then you’ll know he resides with his aunt, uncle, and cousin.” 

“Yeah, and what a lot they are,” Sirius scoffed. 

“You’ve met?” It was the calmest challenge Remus had ever heard, and Sirius avoided Dumbledore’s gaze and declined to answer so he wouldn’t give away exactly _how_ they knew where Harry lived. 

Dumbledore made a sort of steeple by pressing his index fingers together and resting his chin on his thumbs. He looked piercingly from Remus to Sirius. 

“I know you both want nothing more than to raise Harry yourselves, and I must impress upon you how impossible that is,” he said.  “I do not want you to get your hopes up on that matter.   Harry lives with his Muggle relatives because it is the only—yes, I mean this, Mr. Black—the _only_ way to keep him out of harm’s way.  You are gifted wizards and no doubt capable of understanding magic that most cannot wrap even a portion of their minds around, but the invisible forces, both magical and not, that surround Harry Potter _require_ that where he lives does not change until he is of age.  He must continue to consider Privet Drive his primary residence.” 

Dumbledore said the last sentence earnestly, as if he was trying to convey two meanings at one time.  Then it clicked, and Remus and Sirius came to the same conclusion and exchanged a hopeful look.  Harry had to live at Privet Drive—but that didn’t mean he could never _visit_ elsewhere.  Maybe they could even visit him!  

“So we can see him, sir?  What I mean is, we can still be a part of Harry’s life?” 

“A very important part, I would think,” Dumbledore said wisely.  “It was my intention to keep Harry sheltered from the magical world until it came time for him to go to Hogwarts—it’s usually better for children in such a bright spotlight to wait in the wings, but—” 

“One condition,” Sirius interrupted.  

Dumbledore waited to hear what Sirius had to say. 

“We’re allowed to tell him everything.  Not all at once, of course, but Harry will know who we are, how we know who he is, stories about his parents—and don’t tell me he’s too young for that,” Sirius finished sharply.  He knew he sounded rude, but he didn’t want to get to know Harry only to have to keep such important parts of his life secret. 

“Harry is nearly eight now, I believe,” said Dumbledore. “I suppose that is old enough; after all, children have an uncanny ability to understand that which we adults find difficult to speak of.  But I would appreciate if you ease into the fact that his parents were murdered by Lord Voldemort.” 

“Of course I’ll ease into it!” Sirius said incredulously.  “What kind of godfather do you think I am? ‘Hullo, Harry, I’m your ex-convict wizard godfather and oh by the way, an evil maniac killed your parents and probably still wants to kill you—” 

“What Sirius means is thank you,” Remus interjected pointedly.  “For everything.  They’d have never found us innocent if you hadn’t come in.” 

“Thank you, Remus, and you’re welcome.  Conscience is a fickle thing; I find I can keep it at bay for a time, but then when it rears its head again it does so more viciously than ever.  I couldn’t have let you two face that jury alone even if I wanted to.” 

Sirius rolled his eyes and kicked the edge of the frayed carpeting.  Remus couldn’t entirely blame him; convincing the Wizengamot of his innocence was one thing, but no court was as ruthless as that of public opinion. 

“What’ll you do now, sir?” Remus asked Dumbledore a moment later.  Dumbledore glanced at his watch, a spindly little gold thing with more hands ticking and whizzing than Remus could count.

“Well, it is half-past midnight.  I think I could do with a hot cup of tea, or a nightcap,” he said lightly, as if the trial had been just a mere inconvenience on an otherwise perfect day. 

Remus chuckled. 

“I meant now that all this is done,” he explained.  “I can’t imagine too many students’ families will be happy to hear you helped us.  Can’t be good for your reputation to defend a couple of…what did that one wizard call us, Sirius?” 

“Murdering lunatics,” Sirius said around a large mouthful of soup. 

“Right,” Remus nodded in agreement and pushed his hands deep into his pockets.  Dumbledore considered his two former students with fond amusement before answering. 

“I don’t doubt I’ll get a few Howlers, Mr. Lupin, but I’m far more confident that the parents would still rather I remain headmaster than be dealt the alternative of entering a new school year with no headmaster at all.   Besides—my name is quite long.  It will take more than this to smear it.”

There was a twinkle in his eye as he nodded to Remus and Sirius.

“Now,” he said with a sudden clap of his hands, “I have some business to attend to with the Minister before I tuck in for the night.  If I were you, I’d find an owl.  I think a young boy in Little Whinging might appreciate an early birthday letter from his uncles.”

Both Remus and Sirius’s faces broke into the first genuine smiles they’d expressed since arriving at the Ministry, and the entire room seemed to rejoice with them in the thought that all that was standing between them and Harry was a simple letter.  Harry would be confused at first, possibly even apprehensive or scared, but in time they would explain everything to him.  In time, he’d know.

Sirius was most excited to see his godson face-to-face, with both of them in human forms this time—he had already looked so much like James as a baby, and Sirius couldn’t wait to see all the little mannerisms Harry had grown into that were just like his father’s. 

“Come on,” Sirius said after Dumbledore had left the room.  He gripped Remus’s shoulder.  “I heard that Reparations witch say she’s getting us a Ministry car home, to help us avoid the newsies.”

Remus nodded and grabbed his small bundle of things.  “You go on.  You remember how to get into my flat? I just have one stop to make first.”

* * *

Mary Macdonald didn’t have the faintest idea who would be knocking at her door so late, and if she hadn’t already been overtaken by insomnia for the night, she wouldn’t have even entertained the thought of responding to it.  But disgruntled curiosity as well as the instinctual human need to answer the door pulled her from her four poster and she shuffled down the hall, barefoot and ready to tell off whatever saleswizard thought early morning solicitation was a good marketing strategy. 

When she opened the door and saw Remus standing there, however, she would have dealt with any Quality Quidditch representative or Gandalf’s witness instead.  She tried to shut the door in his face, but he stuck his foot out and prevented her from doing so, at great personal risk to his big toe. 

Slowly, she opened the door again and miserably looked Remus in the eye.

“I—I’d heard you got cleared,” she said meekly after a tense moment.  “You can come in if you’d like.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Remus flatly. 

“Oh, erm, alright then.  Well, it’s great news.  I heard rumors going around at work about the innocent verdict, it’s good to see it’s true,” Mary offered uncomfortably.  “And Sirius too, that’s…that’s wonderful.” 

“No thanks to you.” 

Mary’s eyes were filling with tears with each terse word that left Remus’s mouth.  “I know what I did was horrible, I’m so sorry,” she said in a rush.  “I thought it was the right thing, from everything I saw and heard, I really thought—I wanted to recant as soon as I testified!” 

“You could have.  You had time.” 

The coolness in Remus’s voice seared Mary’s skin, and she couldn’t work out a response. 

“Where’s Sirius?” she asked, trying to change the subject. 

“Back at my flat, sleeping.  Well, I suppose it’ll be our flat now.  Years in prison don’t exactly do wonders for a man’s sleep schedule, and he’s got a lot of catching up to do.” 

“Now that’s unfair, Remus, you know I had nothing to do with that!  I was wrong to turn you two in, I see that now, but what happened all those years ago was not my fault.” 

He wanted to snap, tell her how dare she talk to him about _unfair_ , but she was right.  Remus had a lot of pent-up anger towards her and it was beginning to leak out of him from just about every fissure possible; it took a lot of effort to keep it at bay.  But berating Mary who, from the looks of her, felt remorse already, wasn’t why he’d come.  Stonily, Remus reached into one of his pockets and removed a rather heavy burlap bag.  He held it out to Mary. 

“What’s this?” she asked, truly confused.

“I thought about keeping it.”

She took the bag and cinched it open, then when she saw what was inside, she immediately thrust it back into Remus’s hands as if it were some kind of contraband.  

“I can’t take this, not after what I did.” 

“Why not?  I owe you.” 

“Where did this even come from?” 

Remus sighed impatiently, his arm growing tired of holding the sack of galleons; this was taking longer than he expected. 

“When they let us go, the Ministry paid some reparations for how badly they’d fucked things up.  Sirius’s share almost all went right back to the Ministry for the fine he had to pay, but I got mine in full.  One thousand galleons.  So here’s two hundred, for the visit to Azkaban.  I promised I’d pay you back.” 

This gesture in the wake of knowing she’d betrayed Remus was almost too much to bear, and Mary wished he would just yell instead of be so nice, so good.  But Remus was always good. 

“I’m not leaving until you take it,” Remus said.  “And I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I ever want to see you again, so please don’t take your time.” 

A sad kind of shadow crossed Mary’s features, like she was realizing that this really might be it; he really may walk down the street and never contact her again.  Mechanically, she took the bag of galleons, and Remus immediately turned on his heel to walk away. 

“Remus!” Mary called out after him, her voice sounding very loud in the stillness of the night. He stopped, but didn’t turn around.  “I’m sorry for not trusting you, for turning you and Sirius in, for testifying. And...for telling you I loved you, back at your cell. I’ve done a pretty horrible job of showing it.  I don’t expect you to forgive me.” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Remus said, and heard her sharp intake of breath followed by a few poorly masked sobs. The worst part about this all was that Mary wasn’t even apologizing for the right thing.  He was angry she’d betrayed them, livid when she testified, and fully convinced that they could never have the friendship again that they had before, but she was overlooking her biggest offense.  

“Do you even know what you’ve really done?  You’re right, the testimony was fucked up, but honestly? That’s the least of it; we got off nearly scot-free despite it.  And I don’t _care_ if you loved me,” he said, sounding admittedly a little more scathing than he intended.  “You told them what I am.  It doesn’t matter how innocent I am on paper; I’m a werewolf on paper now too, because _you_ told them. Fat chance I’ll have of getting a job, a life again, _respect_ …you took that possibility away from me when it was barely there to begin with.” 

“Remus, I—I’m so sorry,” Mary squeaked, hardly able to see through her tears.  “If there’s anything I can do, I’ll do it, just tell me!”

“There isn’t, it’s done,” Remus said through gritted teeth, and it was true.  The Registry was final.  He’d already asked Rolands and the Minister if there was any way to have his name omitted; there wasn’t.  

“I could help you get a job,” she offered, desperate to make some amends, however minimal they might be. 

Remus shook his head.  “The last thing I need is you butting in trying to help again.”

The only sound as the two once-friends stood across from each other now was the chatter of some stragglers stumbling out of the Raven’s Nest pub one block down, and the faint fizzle of a faraway spell.

“What will you do?” Mary whispered finally.  She was scrambling for words, anything that would keep Remus there just a little bit longer.  She was already mentally sifting through every job opening she knew of at the Ministry, trying to recall which ones discarded applicants with pre-existing conditions and which didn’t.  The list of the former was unfortunately much longer than the latter.

Remus shrugged, and he could feel uncertainty and sadness creeping in and taking the place of his anger as for the first time, he really considered his options.  Florean would have long fired him from the ice cream parlor by now; what with the negative press throughout the trial and the fact that he’d for all intents and purposes fallen off the face of the earth ever since he and Sirius went to the Highlands for Remus’s last transformation—it’d be a miracle if Remus would ever be allowed to buy a cone of Cockroach Crumble Swirl again.  That minute thought saddened him much more than it ought to and he sniffled a little before answering Mary’s question.

“I’ll go Muggle, probably,” he finally answered.  It seemed the only possibility.  If he took up work in a Muggle book store, or as an accountant (Arithmancy might come in handy there), or maybe even a teacher if he brushed up on his French, then he wouldn’t have to disclose anything about being a werewolf.  His monthly absences would be even easier to put over on Muggles, too—they believed any excuse so long as it involved a dentist or a dying great-aunt.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find something,” Mary said softly, and all of a sudden Remus’s anger at her was back.

“G’night,” he said suddenly, turning away once more.  Then, a pause as he turned his head back over his shoulder so she was in his periphery, but couldn’t look him in the eye.  “Best of luck.”

With those final words and a sharp _pop_ , Remus Disapparated.

* * *

**_Remus and Sirius’s flat_ **

**_July 31, 1988_ **

“If it’s not perfect by now, Pads, it’ll never be,” Remus said with a laugh as he walked into the kitchen to see Sirius bent over an open parcel on the table, the contents of which he’d been arranging and rearranging for the last week and a half.

“Shh!” Sirius shushed Remus and continued meticulously positioning all the items inside so they’d rest perfectly on the padding, which itself was actually a Gryffindor scarf.  Sirius knew it was a bit presumptuous to include House apparel in Harry’s birthday gift—the boy wouldn’t even be Hogwarts-age for another few years—but he couldn’t resist.  Besides, any son of James Potter’s would look light a right plonker in any colors besides scarlet and gold. 

“You do know he’s not even going to know what half these things are, don’t you?” Remus asked amusedly, reaching over Sirius’s shoulder and plucking a toy Snitch from inside.  Also in the box were three boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, a set of miniature Quidditch balls that were enchanted to fly around and mimic certain plays, an owl-patterned pair of _Evie Everett’s Ever-Warm Ankle Socks_ , a quill, an inkwell, and a framed photograph of James and Lily, who were smiling out of the frame so warmly it was almost as if they knew their son would soon be looking back at them.

“We’ll just have to explain it all to him!” Sirius said brightly. 

“If his aunt and uncle don’t call the police on us, that is.” 

“Let ‘em try,” Sirius challenged. 

Remus chuckled.  “I’m only joking.  Sort of. Dumbledore did say they’re expecting us.  They’re not happy about all this, from what I can tell, but at least we can visit.” He added in a voice dripping with mock-confusion, “It’s like they’re _scared_ of magic or something, like they think we’ll curse them if they don’t let us see Harry.”

He looked over at Sirius, who had a mischievous gleam in his eyes upon hearing this latest bit of information about the Dursleys. 

“Excellent,” Sirius said, in the same tone he’d always use at school when he spotted a perfect opportunity for mayhem. 

The morning after Sirius and Remus found out they were both innocent, two things happened.  First, Dumbledore stayed true to his word and made a visit to the Dursleys’ residence; it caught them off-guard, so much so that Mr. Dursley turned purple in the face, matching the hue of his wife’s cocktail dress.  While there, Dumbledore had spoken to Harry and, three years earlier than he’d originally planned, told Harry that he was a wizard.  As children do, Harry took the news in stride much more easily than most adults would—as proven by Vernon Dursley imitating a plum for the second time that day after hearing Dumbledore’s announcement.

Secondly, Remus and Sirius had written a letter to Harry—two full rolls of parchment—from the comfort of Remus’s flat, explaining what was safe to say in writing, and promising Harry that they’d answer any other questions in person, and as soon as possible.

As it turned out, though, the next few weeks were a whirlwind for the two men; they swore everyone and their mother came knocking on the door.  Whoever let slip the address of the flat was a mystery, but almost every day, Remus and Sirius had to clear the front stoop of numerous cards, bouquets, copies of the Daily Prophet, letters, and gifts.  News of the verdict had spread like Fiendfyre, and messages from friends and strangers alike were pouring in via owl post and hand deliveries.  Even the shopkeeper at the Apothecary below the flat, to whom Remus rarely spoke, had left a basket of foul-smelling plant bulbs outside Remus’s door one morning.  He threw them right in the trash, but it was a nice gesture either way, or at least he told himself it was. 

Not all the parcels left for them were in support of the verdict, however; someone left a potted Venomous Tentacula on the windowsill that nearly took off one of Remus’s fingers when he opened the kitchen window one morning, and another wizard’s owl had dropped several Dungbombs down the chimney one night, right before Remus and Sirius were about to go to bed. 

To cope with the nasty deliveries, the two men had taken to doing dramatic readings of any hateful mail they received—that is, until one anonymous Howler exploded in the living room and screamed to the heavens that James and Lily Potter would be disgusted with how Remus and Sirius turned out.  That ended the theatrics, and soon after they decided to make the flat Unplottable again so no mail could be delivered.

Still, freedom was, well, liberating, and after the ruckus surrounding the trial had died down a bit, Remus and Sirius were finally able to get back in contact with Harry.  With Dumbledore’s help, they arranged a meeting for July 31, Harry’s eighth birthday, seven p.m. on the dot.

“Alright, all set,” Sirius said finally, standing up from the table.  He grabbed his new wand off the table and was just about to magically wrap Harry’s present when Remus stepped in.

“I just want to take a look!" 

“Come on, Moony, it’s nearly time,” Sirius protested.

“So you get to spend days packing this all, and I’m the one holding us up?” Remus said sarcastically, but he was anxious too and made quick work of giving the parcel a once-over before Sirius flicked his wand and the gold wrapping paper sealed itself around the box.

“Ready?” Remus asked, and Sirius took a deep breath. 

“Ready,” he replied.  He hoped he was.

* * *

**July 31, 1988**

**Number Four, Privet Drive**

**Little Whinging, Surrey.**

It was a simple gesture, knocking on the door, but Sirius suddenly felt like his arms were made of lead.  He couldn’t wait to see his godson, yet he found himself frozen in the face of a physical barrier that was nothing more than a slat of wood with a pewter knocker on the front, but a mental barrier that was much tougher to traverse.  What if Harry didn’t like him?  Or didn’t believe him when he and Remus talked about James and Lily?  Kids were told not to talk to strangers, and that’s essentially what he and Remus were.  One letter and a few choice words from Dumbledore provided a little bit of a buffer, but Sirius was still worried that even after they’d had a chance to meet, his godson would want nothing to do with him. Why would he?

“Nice place,” Remus said to fill the silence.  They hadn’t seen Privet Drive since Sirius had so recklessly Apparated there, but mid-summertime had brought flourishing flowers to the window boxes, and the sweet smell of magnolia seemed to have fused with the air itself.  The house itself was a rather ugly shade of puce, but it was undoubtedly a well-kempt neighborhood.

“Are you going to knock, or should we just stand here until one of them comes out?” Remus said, prompting Sirius to snap out of it and raise his fist to the door.  He rapped the wood thrice, and it sounded quite louder than it really was.

From inside, they could hear the scrape of someone pushing their chair back, and what sounded like faint, frantic whispers.  To their right, Sirius caught a glimpse of a thin woman as she peeked through the window, pursed her lips so hard that Professor McGonagall would be impressed, then whipped the lace curtains shut. 

“It’s _them!_ ” Sirius and Remus heard her hiss.

“Charming woman,” Sirius commented. 

“Merlin,” Remus laughed, “you used to say that about your mum.”

“We’re off to a good start, then,” said Sirius bracingly. They heard one, two, three locks click on the other side of the door, and Remus straightened up as it opened, expecting to see the woman from the window behind it.  Instead, he and Sirius saw past the door and into the house where the woman, her husband, and a chubby little boy who most certainly was not Harry were all cowering by a potted orchid in the foyer.

* * *

  **What did you think?? How will this end?? Stay tuned and add me to your alerts so you know when the last chapter is up!**

**-C**

“Hello?” said the boy who had opened the door.  Sirius and Remus looked down to see a young boy wearing clothes that were much too big for his skinny frame and squinting through a pair of very round glasses.  He had piercing green eyes and unruly black hair that stuck up in all directions, but still didn’t cover the jagged scar on his forehead.

 

Harry Potter looked to Sirius first, then Remus, and then he gave them a tentative smile as he spoke.

 

“I think you’re here for me.”


	17. The First Christmas, Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the last chapter! I want to thank everyone who has read any part of this story from the bottom of my heart. I began writing it over a year ago, and now it’s almost as long as Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.  I truly never expected it to turn out so long, nor did I expect anyone to read it in the first place.  Thank you to each and every one of you who liked, reblogged on tumblr, left kudos, commented or sent me feedback…and thank you for putting up with my erratic updates! I don’t know how many people are still reading this, but I love you all and, well, mischief managed.

**The Hogwarts Express  
December 23, 1991**

“ _Another_ Uric the Oddball!” groaned Ron Weasley.  His words were a bit muddled by his mouthful of Chocolate Frog, but it was clear he was frustrated as he tossed aside yet another repeat card from inside the box. “I’ll have to eat every bloody one of these things to find Barbarus Bragge!”

“Better start now!” Harry Potter laughed from his seat across the compartment. He tore a bite out of a licorice wand as night and snow began to fall outside the windows of the Hogwarts Express.  

“Hey, Harry,” said Ron suddenly, “how’re we going to look up more about the Flamel over the holiday? Unless your uncles have got their own Restricted Section—”

“I bet they have,” said Harry, only half kidding.  “If anyone knows about the Stone, it’s them!”

Ron nodded in agreement and ripped open another Chocolate Frog, checked the card, and frowned.  “Well,” he sighed, “whether they know or not, it can’t hurt to ask.”

“Are you sure they won’t tell Dumbledore what we’re doing?” Hermione chimed in anxiously.

“ _My_ uncles? No way,” Harry laughed, and Ron nodded.

“Well, I checked out a few books to read over the break myself,” Hermione chimed in.  She was sitting cross-legged next to Harry, already dressed in Muggle clothes to greet her parents outside Platform 9 ¾.  “I’ve already read them, of course, but a second look can’t hurt!”

“That’s what we should have gotten you for Christmas, Hermione,” said Ron. “The deed to the London Library!”

“I’ve already got a membership, Ronald,” sighed Hermione, and Ron rolled his eyes but neither he nor Hermione could hide their slight grins.

Harry smiled, too, although he was beginning to find the train ride back to King’s Cross laborious. He wanted nothing more than to see Remus and Sirius again.  He’d gotten letters from his uncles just about daily while at school (and one congratulatory Howler after being Sorted into Gryffindor), and kept them updated on all the goings-on at Hogwarts, but hadn’t actually seen Remus and Sirius since they took him shopping in Diagon Alley and then helped him onto Platform 9 ¾. That was where they’d run into Ron and his family; Ron’s mum seemed to have known Remus and Sirius from “years ago,” and insisted that Ron and Harry board the Hogwarts Express together.

Now, after a sudden change of plans—Ron’s parents decided to visit his older brother in Romania—Remus and Sirius had offered to have both boys come visit for Christmas.

With each passing moment, Harry felt even antsier.  Although he and Ron would surely ask Remus and Sirius if they knew anything about Nicolas Flamel at some point, Harry’s first order of business would just be catching up with the two unofficial family members he never knew he had until a few short months ago.

“How long ‘til we get in, d’you think?” Ron asked over the chug-chug-chug of the wheels and pistons rumbling beneath their feet.  Harry sighed and smiled.

“Not soon enough.”

* * *

 

**Platform 9 ¾  
December 23, 1991**

“How long until they get in?” Asked Sirius as he drew his traveling cloak tighter around his shoulders. Even on the platform, it seemed as though the chilly winter air had found a way in.

“Not soon enough,” Remus responded, rubbing his hands together.  He was feeling rather weak—the full moon had only just ended—but nothing was going to stop him being there to greet Harry and Ron as they returned for their first visit home from Hogwarts.  Remus remembered all too well how exciting the holidays were when he was eleven, and in the back of his mind, the somber thought that this would be Harry’s first enjoyable Christmas remained.

Sirius had spent the last two weeks preparing for his godson’s visit, then doubled his efforts as soon as Harry had sent an owl asking if his best mate Ron could be allowed to stay as well. Already, a pile of presents for each of them lay perfectly arranged under the giant tree Sirius had magicked into his and Remus’s tiny flat.  It was adorned with Gryffindor colors and all sorts of enchanted ornaments, including one that sang  _God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs_ louder and louder until everyone around joined in.

Not even the shocked stares of some wizards on the platform could dull Sirius’s spirits.

“They’re staring again,” Remus muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Let them!” said Sirius happily.  “They’re going to get quite a show, you know—a convict, a werewolf, and soon, Harry Potter!”

“…And we’ll get him out of here as soon as possible, I’m sure,” said Remus sternly.  The last thing he wanted was a mob when the train pulled in.

“Of course, dear,” said Sirius patiently.  “Ah!” He said suddenly, and nodded down the tracks.  Just visible around the bend was the front headlight of the Hogwarts Express and then, the iconic whistle pealed through the platform and echoed off the stone walls. Sirius and Remus walked hurriedly towards the edge of the platform as the train pulled into the station, and they tried their best to spot Harry and Ron waving in the window.

“There!” Remus called out; Harry had his face pressed against the glass and was waving excitedly to an equally jovial Remus and Sirius.  The second the doors opened, Harry came bounding out and nearly knocked Sirius over with the force of his hug.  

Sirius was certain he’d never smiled so wide in his entire life.  “Alright, Harry?” he said happily once his godson stopped squeezing.  “Look at you, a true Gryffindor,” he said warmly, playfully tugging at Harry’s school tie. “And you must be Ron! Harry’s told us all about you.”

Ron grinned and shook both Remus’s and Sirius’s hands. “I know all about you, too!”

“And Hermione, of course,” said Remus, smiling and holding out a hand to Hermione as she joined Harry and Ron.

“It’s no nice to meet you, Mr. Lupin!” she said brightly, and Remus looked a bit taken aback at being addressed this way. “And Sirius—er, Mr. Black.”

“Sirius is just fine,” Sirius replied, then stooped to loudly whisper in Hermione’s ear.  “But keep calling him Mr. Lupin, that look on his face was priceless!”

“Ignore him,” said Remus simply, and Hermione looked a bit befuddled, but amused nonetheless. “Oh—have you got your luggage, Harry?  Ron, Hermione, yours too?”

The group of five made their way over to the luggage compartment and retrieved Harry and Ron’s suitcases. Hermione located hers as well, and then she, Harry, and Ron said their goodbyes, promising to write at least once before getting back to school. After they were sure Hermione had safely exited the platform to where her parents were waiting, Remus, Sirius, Harry and Ron then began making their way towards the far side of the tracks, where it would be safe to Apparate home.

“Hedwig’s meeting us,” Harry informed Sirius as the two linked arms to Apparate.

“Right smart bird you’ve got there, eh?” Sirius chuckled.  

“I wish I had an owl,” Ron said a bit dubiously.  “Or just any kind of pet.”  Sirius and Remus exchanged a look; had Percy Weasley’s rat Scabbers not turned out to be Peter, Ron might have had a pet to call his own.  

“Well,” said Remus, saving the silence from becoming too awkward, “ask Father Christmas, he just might listen!”  He said cheerfully, then exchanged another quick glance with Sirius, who winked over Harry and Ron’s heads.

“Really?” Ron asked hopefully.

Remus nodded.

“If you’ve been good,” he said loftily.  “Although, Harry has told us you two have been getting in quite a bit of trouble already…Sirius, I wonder why Professor McGonagall never wrote home to us about it?” Remus said sarcastically.

“I thought she had, those must have been the letters I used for kindling last month!” Sirius laughed.

“Ah, must have been!” Remus played along.

“Whoa,” Ron said, wide-eyed and shocked that anyone would so openly defy Minerva McGonagall.

“They’re joking,” said Harry. “At least, I think they are.”

Sirius chuckled.

“Come on, let’s get you two home, and then we want to hear all about school and all the studying I’m so sure you’ve been doing,” he teased.

Harry smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head.  “Erm…right…” he laughed nervously.

Remus, Sirius, Harry and Ron all looked around the Platform once more before at the same time, Remus and Sirius Apparated, each of them with a first year in tow. Uncomfortable though Side-Along was, Harry relished the feeling, for it meant he was going  _home_. Hogwarts was home, of course, but to know he had another place where he felt safe and loved was better than any other possible Christmas gift.

Harry knew the Sorcerer’s Stone was still a mystery, and Snape was still up to something. Voldemort was still out there somewhere, biding his time, and Harry knew he would still very likely have to face him one day.  However, those thoughts seemed less important as he landed with Sirius on the front step of his flat. As Harry entered the flat and for once, felt excitement and joy flood his body at the sight of Christmas decorations, he knew that no matter what, he would be alright. He had Sirius, he had Remus, he had Ron, and Hermione too.  And now, he had an entire holiday just to spend with his new family.

* * *

**And with that, Our Choices has come to an end. I considered ending it after Chapter 16, but I really wanted to just end on a nice, wholesome note. Again, endless thanks to all my readers; you truly keep me going!  And keep an eye out for my next fic, War of Attrition, coming this Halloween!**

**Cait :)**


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